It’s just that there’s a voice, another voice, a warm voice that I know I’ve heard before, perhaps beside a campfire, saying, go ahead. If you don’t like it you can leave. There is no shame. But—what I have to give up to accept this invitation! Perhaps there is no shame, but there is most certainly loss. Except—wait. Is there? *What do I really have to lose?* Why am I holding back? I wish I wasn’t a thousand years old and my hands didn’t look exactly like my dad’s. I wish my index finger was longer than my ring finger and that I felt attractive to the men I want to attract. Of course, I haven’t yet proven that I’m not.... 101112