My nine-year-old nephew was reading a book called Animorphs and was telling me all about it. He was describing to me the process of morphing when I made my confession.

Me: I can morph too.
Markey: No, you can’t. You can’t change into an animal.
Me: I can morph … into a spinster … any time I want.
Markey: No, you can’t
Me: I can just put on eyeglasses, put my hair into a tight bun, then … I morph into a spinster.
Markey: NO, YOU CAN’T!
Markey: Cannot.
Me: Can too.
Markey: Prove it. Morph now.
Me: I don’t have my eyeglasses with me.
Markey: You can’t. You can’t. *conviction diminishing by each second*
Me: *smiles mysteriously*
Markey: Tita, what’s a spinster?

He thought a spinster was some kind of animal. In a way, that’s true. A caged animal. But I refuse to be caged. I’m not a spinster. In a few months time I will be a CAT LADY.

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