Call me Felipa. I am woman. Hear me roar.
Yes, in keeping with changing times, especially the trailblazing state of California, I have decided to switch gender, sex, whatever it’s cool to call it.
I’ve spotted some nice frocks in the market, indigenous style, and I’ll fill a hamper. I’ll let my hair grow long and silky, and I’ll shave my armpits and legs. I’ll wear a tight jock at all times to shrink my considerable package.
Perhaps I’ll just slice it off. I don’t want to pussyfoot around this.
Most fun of all, I will now go into the lady john, and perhaps I’ll peek under the stall doors to gauge the competition.
With luck, my child bride will leap in the opposite direction, so we can still make love in the moonlight. During the day, she can don denim overalls with a rolled sock stuffed down her left leg.
She already goes to the gym a lot, and she has muscles.
I will purchase perfume and scarlet lipstick. I’m well over 50, so menopause won’t bug me. I won’t go hot and cold during the night.
These are exciting new times in which we live, and I do adore California and Gov. Jerry Brown for legislating new ways of thinking.
Now where did I put my eye liner? I am woman. Hear me shriek!