My best friend Squinny reads my blog and s/he thinks I should shut ‘the fuck’ up. I tell Squinny to STFU! She says I should only write about pretty things, like the possible existence of My Little Pony and Cinderella. Squinny says I shouldn’t bad mouth people I don’t know because s/he doesn’t know. She just says I shouldn’t. Says I’m losing control. Says they’ll get me. Says they’ll chew me up. Says they’ll find me and eat me alive.
Mom says we should eat Squinny alive because Squinny has a big mouth but doesn’t say much. I tell mom she’s cruel but she’s also right. Squinny shouldn’t tell me to shut ‘the fuck’ up. She should shut up and write her own blog. Tell the world your story,I tell her, in algebra and light. Squinny won’t have it and won’t listen to me. She’s a mule, not a pony, but s/he’s a little skinny thing,so mom and I probably won’t eat hir anyway. She’s not called Squinny for nothing, mom says. Plus, Squinny is too busy wishing for better parents.
In fact, Squinny has two sets of parents and neither set knows what to make of Squinny, or how to treat hir ‘condition’, or what to call her (or him). Mom and I know how to treat hir ‘condition’, but it’s not our business, we’ve got problems too. All we can do is treat Squinny like family even though s/he’s not. We feed hir cake. Give hir brief hugs. Meatloaf leftovers and sweet potato pie. We even tell hir s/he’ll be alright one day even though we know she won’t.