One of my favourite picture books as a little one was called “Don and Donna Go To Bat”. I don’t know who wrote it or illustrated it. I remember it as the story of identical twins, a brother and sister called Don and Donna.
Hit the brakes, there, sparky, I know that identical twins are always the same gender. But in this book, they weren’t. It’s fiction, okay? Suspend your disbelief.
So, they’re identical gingers, right down to the freckles on their adorable little faces. They both love baseball, but of course Donna isn’t allowed to play because she has a vagina, which apparently is a big problem in baseball. Not sure why.
Anyway, forward to the day of the Big Game. Don comes down with some pussy wussy illness, and can’t play. Oh no! He’s the star player! Whatever will they do?
Well, in a fairly predictable turn of events, Donna tucks her hair up under her hat and puts on her big girl panties, hits a fuckin’ home run and saves the day. F**k you, Little League, F**k you.
I really liked that book. See, those were different times. My career options as a chick looked somewhat limited to me when I was little. Nurse (ick), teacher (hell no), ballerina (hmm…Versteeg coordination working against me there), or mommy.
What I really wanted to be was Captain James T. Kirk, or possibly a land surveyor. Well, wait – I kind of wanted to BE Captain Kirk and marry him at the same time. It was a little confusing. But no way was I wearing Uhura’s red underpants, I’ll tell you that much. Seems like a little bit of an impractical outfit for the type of interstellar swashbuckling for which I pined. I was pretty sure it had something to do with that vagina thing again…