A Conversation Between Me and Three Kids

                                               
Mom you look like a tranny in this picture.
What?
Or you look like Pete. Or Harry.
You don't think I look like a high- fashion supermodel?
Um, that would be no.
With my short Robert Palmer hairdo?
Who?
My shoulder pads?
Let me see...oh my god.
The goddam door knocker ear-rings?
Mom!
If I were a tranny, I'd be wearing make up at least.
Okay, not a tranny, just a transgender.
Yeah, transgender.
What?
Transgender!
Yeah she does.
Would you stop saying transgender?

I walk away but I want to listen in. I feel like the loser, lonely, dork who invites the cool kids over for a party and then is not included in their conversation. But I'm fascinated! Since Mo came back for a visit, I have learned that I am anti-social, that I don't like to be touched and that I am rude to strangers.

What do you mean I don't like to be touched?
Every time we hug you, you flinch...or lean away.
That's because you're big. You have boobs. And hair.
Ew Mom! What do you mean we have hair?
Nevermind.
You have issues, mother. Something's wrong with you.
I love being touched.
Gross!
Just not by people I'm related to.
Mom!

They all walk away, totally freaked out. Now they know how I feel.