The year was 2007; the place: the Miami ghetto .
Sasha shit the flo' then smiled as his mammie grabbed a mop, grumbling as usual about how a grown man should have learned how to use the toilet by now.
"But mammie, I and I is not a man, I and I be a woman in a man's body."
Sasha smoothed the pleats in the black cocktail dress he wore, readjusted his wig, and said "now mammie, when you be done here I and I wants you to do my homework a-'gin as always fo' school...someday 'wit yo help I and I be de best drug store clerk in de 'hood."
Poor suffering mammie went online to Miami Dade and slowly pecked out the answers to her son's daily instruction packet; she turned to google for help every time.
Sasha told his mammie: "Mammie, when I and I gets me a 'ploma I and I be changin' my name to Tasha. You best send one o' dem mails to de Dean and tells ''em 'dat."
Mammie clenched her teeth: it was a battle she couldn't win.
"Chile, evah since you gots outta prison you been sayin' you be a lady but you never said why you thinks 'dat is what you is."
Sasha shuddered at the memory of his time in prison: the boredom, the humiliation, the bleeding rectum.
"Prisom made me de man, I means de woman I and I is today, and 'dat be 'dat. Now where be 'dat box o' Church's Chicken?"
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