What a time for it to hit. They always say you have to go through a "self discovery" of a sort before you become comfortable with your goddamn sexuality. I've known ever since I was a kid that mine hadn't come. It's been burning in the back of my mind for seventy years now, clawing at me like a hot, shrieking bobcat, promising that one day I would inevitably face the sexual perils and uncertainties of adulthood. Well, today is that day.

A minute ago, everyone stood up to cheer, and I didn't. My grandsons must have noticed. Can they know that I am secretly trying to grow breasts? I think I saw it on Mr. Wizard; with all the concentration I can muster, a pair of taut, magnificent breasts WILL grow right out of my chest if I try hard enough and believe long enough. Just you wait. And by the end of the month - that's right - my very own, baby-fresh VAGINA.

Go ahead and doubt me. Go ahead and talk trash about me to all your friends. But prepare to eat crow when I come knocking on YOUR door, showing off my shiny new vagina. Your whole family gets a look. It's not every day an elderly man generates a vagina from thin air, and folks'll want to be involved. AMERICA will want to be involved.

Do I feel guilty, America will ask, about going ahead and spawning several generations of kin before realizing I was really a woman? BY GOD, NO, I'll answer. I didn't know what I was doing! I was confused! There's a margin of error for stupid mistakes when you're still discovering your sexuality - a buffer zone for experimentation that's perfectly normal.

The whole idea started to hit me as the game began, and now my mind is made up. But I'm no queer, America. You won't see me sashaying up to the Shriners, batting my eyelashes and fishing for compliments. No, sir. I'm a role model for my boys here, and I'll be damned if they look up to a man-lover. They'll just have to make due with Grandpa's new monthly cycles and striking figure.

Game's over. I'm off to the ladies room to check my progress.