
Like, I could care less about my gender. Give me melons if you wish, but my stick has been with me all my life and I’ll be damned if I have to part with it. What does that make me? I don’t know, just been thinking in my ever growing quest to overthink everything and I don’t think I can think of a label so I think I don’t need to think of a label
I don’t even think I’m capable of dysphoria, that’s how little I care about my gender. Like, I’ve thought about how I might react if I got hit with some “instant genderswap” magic and I think I would just react similarly to if my favorite childhood spoon broke. I would initially be sad, get used to not having it, and then occasionally remember the spoon, causing a small wave of nostalgic melancholy as I look dramatically out a nearby window (spoon event is real, nearby window added for impact)