Margaret had been chatting to a delightful young woman, Clarice, who often joined her for lunch on the park bench. They would talk about the headlines in Margaret’s paper. She bought a paper every day as she had never yet got the hang of that internet thing and at ninety-three she was sure she never would.
Today’s headline was about men who wanted to be women.
“I quite understand that,” Margaret said. “I’ve always wanted to be one.”
Clarice gave her a strange look.
“So are you a trans or cis woman?”
Margaret smiled vaguely.
“I’m an old woman, dear.”