“Hey, Illegal, what do you want to be today?”

“I want to be healthy, Aussie. I bent my left front dewclaw, it hurts a lot, and I can’t see a doctor in the middle of the Labor Day weekend.”

“That’s not what I’m referring to, Illegal. Today, are you a boy or a girl?”

“I’m not a boy or a girl, Aussie, I’m male.”

“Okay, how about an hour from now, will you be a boy or a girl?”

“I’ll probably continue to be male, Aussie.”

“What about this evening? Or tonight?”

“I’ll still be—”

“Come on, Illegal, don’t you want to be something else as the day goes on? For instance, it might be nice to be more female later, you know. As the sun goes down get a little romantic, strum a guitar, sing Besame Mucho, sip a margarita, show some skin. Know what I mean?”

“Aussie, where is this going? Are you making Henry’s life miserable again?”

“Moi? I’m just wondering what he plans to be today, boy or girl. Maybe both. Maybe neither. And of course, those things change with the hours, depending on his schedule: At midafternoon, he can be assertive, be male. Two hours later the sun begins to go down, the heat gets gentler, you start seeing more than one point of view, and that’s when you become both. When it’s time to make dinner, it’s very useful to be female. And when you’re ready for bed, that’s the perfect time to be asexual. But when you get up in the morning, you shouldn’t be anything, so the day is wide open. Start from scratch, as Bernie the Man would say it.”

“You’re hounding Henry, Auss.”

“Of course! There’s a little hound dog in all of us. And if you’re an illegal Chihuahua, you expect to be hounded. I’m thinking of applying for a job with ICE, can I use you as a reference?”

“Aussie, people who become transgender or feel their gender identity doesn’t match their biological characteristics from birth don’t change like this every few hours. They go through much deliberation, they consult with parents, family, doctors, therapists, friends. They struggle with the question: Who and what am I? Gender and sexuality are not something you change depending on the time of day, like sweaters. And stop chewing on Illegal’s—eh, Henry’s neck.”

“Why? When he’s hurting and can’t fight back, that’s the perfect time to chew on his or her or its or whatever’s neck.”

“Oh Aussie, you’re so much bigger and stronger than Henry is.”

“Of course. That’s why I’m a peacemaker.”

“You, Auss? A peacemaker?”

“Sure, just like the Man. Trump, of course, not Bernie. Trump is a far greater peacemaker than Bernie. Just look at all the wars he’s put an end to in such a short time. He says he ends a war a month.”

“Name one.”

“Congo and Rwanda.”

“They’ve just massacred some 150 Hutus in Congo, Aussie.”

“Israel and Iran.”

“He decided to bomb their nuclear facilities, but they still have the wherewithal to develop nuclear weapons, it’ll take some more time, and now they’ve got lots more buy-in from the general population than before.”

“Ukraine.”

“Are you serious, Aussie?”

“Israel and Hamas.”

“Don’t make me laugh—or cry. Aussie, just because he says on Truth Social that he ended a war doesn’t mean the war ended.”

“All it takes is a little implementation, that’s all.”

“Implementation is everything. Aussie, making real peace takes patience, time, and deep understanding of underlying issues. I wouldn‘t mind if others in his government took over the details while he does the photo op, but they don’t.”

“Who cares? He’s taking me with him when he flies to Oslo on Qatar Airways. Anything I can get you from duty-free? Some whale meat, maybe?”

“You can’t bring meat, veggies or fruit into the United States, Auss. Not legal.”

“Legal schmiegal. Obviously, today you decided to be a fussy, nitpicking, badgering female. Can you identify as something else tomorrow—puhlease?”

“Aussie, I can’t believe these sexist cliches. And just what do you think you are? You’re also a female.”

“Am not. Biologically, yes, but in all the ways that count I am Republican.”