I remember being little and wanting to be a girl. Late at night as I got older, I'd pretend I had breasts, using various things to stand in for them, wanting so bad to sleep in these pale imitations of womanhood but never daring. As I got older, I gradually resigned myself to being male, even enjoyed it at times, but I always had that one nagging thought in the back of my head, that little hateful voice saying "You pretender. You awkward little excuse for a guy. You fail at everything, even being you". So here I am. I'll prove my harshest critic, myself, wrong. Hello, internet, I'm Janine.