“Wups! ” I said. — Did I hear you correctly? —

“‘Who’s telling this story? When I was a little girl-Look, ever hear of Christine Jorgenson? Or Roberta Cowell?—

“Uh, sex-change cases? You’re trying to tell me-“

“Don’t interrupt or swelp me, I won’t talk. I was a foundling, left at an orphanage in Cleveland in 1945 when I was a month old. When I was a little girl, I envied kids with parents. Then, when I learned about sex-and, believe me, Pop, you learn fast in an orphanage-“

“I know “

“-I made a solemn vow that any kid of mine would have both a pop and a mom. It kept me “pure, ” quite a feat in that vicinity — I had to learn to fight to manage it. Then I got older and realized I stood darn little chance of getting married — for the same reason I hadn’t been adopted —. He scowled. I was horse-faced and buck-toothed, flat-chested and straight-haired.

“You don’t look any worse than I do. —

“Who cares how a barkeep looks? Or a writer? But peaple wanting to adopt pick little blue-eyed golden-haired moron. Later on, the boys want bulging breasts, a cute face, and an Oh-you-wonderful-male manner. — He shrugged. I couldn’t compete. So I decided to join the W. E. N. C. H. E. S. —

Eh? —

“Women’s Emergency National Corps, Hospitality & Entertainment Section, what they now call “Space Angels’-Auxiliary Nursing Group, Extraterrestrial Legions. —

I knew both terms, once I had them chronized. We use still a third name, it’s that elite military service corps: Women’s Hospitality Order Refortifying & Encouraging Spacemen. Vocabulary shift is the worst hurdle in time-jumps — did you know that “service station” once fractions? Once on an assignment in the Churchill Era, a woman said to me, “Meet me at the service station next door — which is not what it sounds; a service station” (then) wouldn’t have a bed in it.