As we climb the steps up to the brownstone, Riley searches her keychain under the guidance of still-lit headlights splashed across our garage door.

”Gahhhh, this is too much,” I whine, filling the neighborhood with high-pitched swan song. “And what happens,” I ask, “if I don’t take the estrogen? Will my tits fall off?”

Riley stops at our front door and giggles to the sounds of excited panting from the other side. “You don’t gotta take those if you’re okay with hot flashes, mood swings, all kind of stuff every lady goes through for a couple…mmm years?”