“Okay.”

“‘Okay’…?  Why not look like what you are?”

“What do you mean?  Like, long hair and skirts or whatever?  I mean, that’s just not me, dude.”

“So you’re saying you’re a boy.”

“No.”

“That’s what it sounded like.”

“No.  No.  What the hell does it mean that I look like a boy anyway?  My hair is ‘boyish’?  My clothes?”

“Well it’s-“

“No, they’re not boyish.  What the fuck is ‘boyish’?  It’s one of those socio…things.  Sociocultural things.  It’s not biological, nothing about my clothes or haircut is intrinsically boyish.  No, shut up.  This is stupid.  I shouldn’t have to say ‘I’m a boy’ to make it okay for me to have a fucking undercut, or wear a suit, or like… I don’t know, fixing cars or engineering or whatever.  No, fuck that, I’m a girl.  I’m a woman, and this is how I look and how I behave and what I like.  That’s it.”