Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Not a gall-durned thing!


You're losing your mind. You're really, truly, honest to goodness losing it.

I can hardly believe I'm telling myself this. Oh boy, you know... this is really bad. I never wanted this to happen. I think I should be angry at myself for not being able to tell the difference between acting like a loon and really being one. You know, there is a difference, a difference that used to be really clear.

You dress like the Statue of Liberty, but that doesn't make you think you're the Statue of Liberty, you know, unless you're a total nutcase. That's still very clear to me. THAT is.

You dress like a girl, every single day for a year. Month after month of sewing, hemming, picking out fabric and click-clacking around the compound in pumps, but that doesn't make you think you're a girl, unless you're a total nutcase. That's also very clear to me.

Hear that, brain? Hear that? I'm not the Statue of Liberty! I'm not a girl!

Hear that?

So too should it go for what I did today.

You dress like a girl, get up on your toes and kiss a superior officer full and long, right in the middle of the mess tent. You spend the whole time waiting for him to wrench himself away from you in disgust so you can squeal something and run away, hoping Colonel Potter will hear about it and finally fill out that form. That beautiful, magnificent form that makes all this false insanity worthwhile.

But he doesn't wrench himself away, and for some reason, neither do you. And when it finally breaks, he just walks away, speechless. No angry words, no threats. Nothing. And you're speechless, too. Speechless and feeling tingly, from the top of your cute lace pillbox hat to the soles of your stillettos.

I still know I'm not a girl.

I still know I'm not a girl.

I must be losing my mind.