"I need you to gender that jello"

At Tone Madison’s Office Hours on Friday, I ran into Kavin Senapathy, author of The Progressive Parent: Harnessing the Power of Science and Social Justice to Raise Awesome Kids. Tone Madison published an excerpt from Senapathy’s book ahead and I interviewed them on WORT-FM’s midday program A Public Affair. That interview was during the Olympic games in Paris, so one topic we discussed was the gender binary and how its a) a myth, even in the biological sense, and b) been weaponized against women athletes in order to exclude women from sports. Someone did call the station during the interview and told the producer they wanted to talk about women athletes. It was too late in the program to bring them in, but the producer also put them off because they were being a bit cagey when asked what specifically their question was.

Recounting that on Friday sparked a conversation about how some cis gender people are obsessed with gender. They must on some level believe that gender shapes personality. They can’t imagine buying clothes or toys for a baby without knowing its genitalia. They can’t connect with a fictional character if they don’t identify on one end or the other of the gender binary. It is deeply strange.

I entered a fiction writing contest with the theme of “inanimate romance” about a heartbroken okra looking for love (or at least a fun night out). The first few rounds, everyone who entered a story judges other writers’s entries from a different category. Once the judging is done you can see everyone’s anonymous feedback. One comment I received was that they couldn’t vote for my piece because I had only identified the gender of one character. I made a hotdog bun a “she,” for reasons, but maybe I shouldn’t have! As much fun as the joke was, maybe its better to just come out and say “ITS FUCKING FOOD! How do you GENDER JELLO!?”

Anyway, that led into a conversation about the sex lives of food, which reminds me of another negative comment my story got: “Kind of gross. Didn’t really want to hear about sex lives of veggies and fruits and buns and sausages.”

But maybe you do, dear reader! So I’ve copied the short story below. Nothing graphic, but there are puns.

Category: inanimate romance

Required elements:

• Object: disguise

• Character: charmer

Word limit: 250.

A recipe to cure heartbreak

“We’ve never been with an asparagus,” some grapes purred. Others coquettishly giggled. Hooking up with a cluster of grapes must be a hoot, like screwing a Greek chorus. And I needed a distraction from heartbreak. 

She’d been the odd bun out (hotdog-bun ratios are always off). I adored her, but knew it would expire. When the fridge was restocked, my bun found her life sausage. 

Flirting with grapes eased the sting, until some bananas tore off my headdress.

“It’s okra!” they guffawed. “Not asparagus!”

The grapes gasped.

“I was at a costume party,” I explained sheepishly. Then crooned, “I shoulda told you, but look at you. You’re gorgeous. Can you blame me?” But most of the cluster had soured on me and rolled everyone toward the bananas.

Returning to the crisper, I saw Jello’s mold. We have a history, me and Jello. They’re not a snob, unlike most foods, and we’ve had some fun. Why not stop by and say hi? 

They slid on over, a little flush.

“We’ve got an ambrosia salad going,” they said. “You want to join?” 

Absolutely. A few drinks in, I was canoodling with some marshmallows and maraschino cherries, when some grapes from earlier stopped by. They’d broken from the cluster.

“It’s that cheeky little okra,” they chirped.

“No bananas?” I asked.

“We thought this’d be more fun.”

I can’t kiss and tell. I will say, it was fun. Also, I’m sorry if your ambrosia salad tasted like okra. But I have no regrets.