Author Notes - Oh boy, this chapter... so, you might remember from 'Lisa's First Word' that Homer once mentioned his cousin Frank. Apparently, Frank's parents let him share the same bed as them, leading to him joining a cult and now he calls himself 'Francine'. I'll take 'Jokes That Aged Badly' for 500. Nowadays, the joke makes it seem like the show is, as TV Tropes puts it, implying that changing gender is the result of mental instability.

You can tell by the title of this chapter that I'm bringing Cousin Frank up from a mere mention to a full-on major appearance. And we will be tackling the whole 'Francine' thing. Wish me luck.

I'll just say this: when I'm tackling topics like this, expect me to be fairly left-leaning. I consider myself a left-leaning centrist, up from being quite right-leaning and from being mostly left-leaning before that. I do not speak about my right-leaning days, because - I admit it - I had fallen into that 'FEMINIST GETS REKT WITH FACTS AND LOGIC' stage. Nowadays, I just make fun of everyone.

CHAPTER SEVEN - HOMER AND FRANK

1959... They knew something was up with Homer, but there was something entirely different going on with his cousin Frank.

Homer was developing fine, Mona was sure of it. Indeed, Mrs Miller and her daughter served as fine tutors for him, and he seemed just fine to be taught by them. Mona always used the word 'seemed' because she wasn't really sure how Homer felt. His emotional range was rather all-or-nothing, so he'd either be blank as a new canvas or going absolutely nuts. Still, he seemed happy, and that was enough to make Mona happy too.

Except, there was one little problem.

'Abe…'

Mona and her husband were seated at the kitchen table, drinking down some coffee after a long day's work of milking the cows. The bovine gals were getting a little frail, and the both of them knew that their life on the farm was coming to a close. Abe, somewhat understandably, was always more concerned with that than the 'problems' with his son. Mona couldn't blame him one bit - it was 'only' their entire expenses on the line - but today she wanted to talk about Homer again.

'Homie is coming along just fine,' She said. 'For the most part. He's walking alright, and he's talking just a little less than he should, but that's perfectly okay. But, I don't think he's made any friends yet.'

'I'm not surprised.' Abe groaned, sounding like he was hardly invested at all.

'There's nothing wrong with Homer preferring to be alone, but I'm a little worried. From what I saw in Mrs Miller's class, the only kid he seemed to get along with was… Barney, I think his name was. Even then, Homer hardly ever mentions him. Again, nothing wrong with him preferring his own company, but…' She paused, taking another sip from her coffee. 'I do worry about his social development.'

She turned her head to see her four-year-old son in the living room, staring at a lineup of matchbox cars. He had a smile on his face as he sat there with his knees up to his chest, but all he did was stare at the toys. He had arranged them just like that, in a chromatic order akin to those 'rainbows' Mrs Miller told him about, and in that little head of his he imagined them racing around a dangerous track loaded with obstacles like fiery pits and spiky loops.

He didn't move any of them, though. Just imagining it was good enough for him.

Abe scoffed. 'Who would ever be friends with him?'

Mona knitted her brow. 'Abe, I-'

'No, I'm serious. Kids are a bunch of judgemental bastards, and you know it. Kids will find one little thing different about you, and make your life hell all because of it. I've seen students teased just because their hair was red. Like it or not, Homer is nothing like the other kids. They have so much ammo that he doesn't stand a chance up against them.'

Mona wanted to argue with him, but she had to admit that - to some extent - he was right. She winced as the memories of the 'mean girls' in her school returned to her. She could hardly imagine the awful things they'd say about her son, and what she could imagine made her feel sick.

'But we have to do something.' She said, stirring her tea with a spoon. 'He needs to play with kids his age.' She smiled when an idea dawned on her. 'Wait, I know! I'm sure my nephew Frank would be a great friend for our Homie.'

'Frank?!' Abe exclaimed, slamming his cup onto the coaster. 'Oh, I've met that kid a couple times before, and something isn't right with him. I'm not sure what it is, but something's off.'

Mona rolled her eyes. 'Well, in that case, he'd be a perfect friend for Homer. At the very least, he'll be great for Homer to practise some social skills.'

'So Frank can screw with him even more?'

'Abe, Homer is right there.'

While it was true that Homer was right there and easily within earshot, he didn't hear a single word. Nothing his parents said could pierce his little bubble of imagination, and even the sound of his own name did little more than tug him away just slightly. That smile on his face brought relief to Mona.

'Whatever you say,' She said, turning back to Abe. 'I'm letting Homer meet my nephew, for real. I'll be writing a letter to my brother, and there's nothing you can do about it.'

Abe grumbled, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms. There were a lot of things he wanted to say or do, but there was no point. Mona was right. She had exploited his greatest weakness…

Herself.

Of course, inviting a family member to come visit wasn't nearly as easy back then as it is now. So, it took a while for Mona's brother to receive the letter. Even then, he and his wife were busy with work, so figuring out a good time to visit was difficult. After a while, they decided that they could trust Mona and Abe to watch over their son Frank for a day. While the man of the house was busy at his work, Frank's mother offered to drive down to the farm to drop off her son.

Mona waited on the porch, awaiting the arrival of her sister-in-law. She hadn't seen her beloved nephew in a while, and her heart warmed at the thought of seeing him again. Abe was inside the house, yelling at the TV some more, while Homer was playing with his cars in his bedroom. Now, he was moving them around a little bit more, but just one at a time, and the moment he was done with one car he slotted it right back where it should've been. Nothing stressed him out more than his perfect order being ruined.

The real car, which barely functioned at this point, drove into the farm's driveway and parked right behind Abe's WWII jeep. Mona stood up the moment she saw her sister-in-law in the driver's seat, but she had barely gone down the short series of steps of the porch before the back door opened. Little Frank, who was just a few months older than Homer, leapt out of the car with a spring in his step and a smile on his face, and he ran right for Mona.

'Auntie!' He cried as he opened his arms up for a hug.

Mona was never one to deny a family member a loving embrace, and so kneeled down to give her nephew a tight and loving hug, just as he wanted. He had to have been the second cutest little boy she had ever seen, second only to her own little Homer. Those blue overalls in particular were especially charming. In fact, there was only one thing that seemed a little off: his hair.

Now, it wasn't that the hair was an unusual colour or dirty or anything like that. Brown shiny hair could hardly be called unusual, in most aspects. What made Frank's hair so unusual was that it was long. Not just longer than Homer's hair, but at a length much more fitting that of a little girl. In fact, it had even been tied into a ponytail. If Mona didn't know any better, she'd say that Frank was a little girl with that kind of hairstyle. She certainly didn't think it looked bad, just a little odd for a boy.

'How's my little Frankie going?' Mona asked with a smile.

'Great, Auntie Mona!' He responded, with a giggle.

A thought crept up on her for a moment. Were her brother and sister-in-law trying to make him look like a girl? It seemed unlikely, since they expressed wanting a boy to begin with and his outfit wasn't girly in the slightest, but it would've explained the long girly hair.

'Do you like my hair?' He asked, as if reading her mind. 'Is it long and pretty?'

Mona blinked a few times. She couldn't remember the last time a little boy asked her such a question. Still, she smiled.

'Why,' She said. 'It's some of the prettiest hair I've ever seen!'

'Is Homer home?'

Mona stepped back, just a little. 'He's in his room. He's just-'

Frank did not allow her to finish her sentence, and rushed right inside anyway. She could hear his excited footsteps fading as he ran deeper into the farmhouse, while Abe yelled at him for intruding on the property. His demands for the child to get out were loaded with apathy, so Mona wasn't too concerned. And anyway, she had a sister-in-law she had to converse with.

'Don't break anything, Frankie!' Abe yelled. 'Or I'll… eh, never mind. I ain't getting up now.'

Frank ran all around the house, being sure not to touch or break anything just like his parents told him. The farmhouse wasn't quite as big as he remembered it being last time he was here, but he was even younger back then than he was now. Because the place wasn't very big, it didn't take him long to find Homer's room.

'Oh, hi Homer!'

Homer didn't turn to look at him, but Frank wasn't too bothered with this. The Simpson boy sat on the floor, staring at his lined-up cars with a smile on his face. He made the car-driving noises himself with his mouth, adding in some sudden stops and even crashes every now and then.

'Hi Homer!' Frank called again.

This time, Homer glanced up from his arrangement of cars. He gave his cousin the exact same smile he gave his toys, a smile that seemed oddly blank. Frank didn't mind, and in return gave Homer a 'much more' genuine smile.

'Whatcha doing?' The long-haired boy asked.

'Playing with cars.' Homer answered, simply.

Frank raised an eyebrow. 'Playing? Doesn't look like playing to me.'

'It's fun!'

Now, Frank loved fun, just like any other four-year-old. This, however, went against all his ideas of 'fun'. How on Earth this equaled to 'fun' was beyond him. He tapped his foot against the floor, waiting for Homer to do anything. When all the Simpson boy did was continue staring at his cars, Frank groaned and picked up the green car without asking.

Homer's smile disappeared completely.

'NO!' The boy cried.

Frank - being as young as he was - may not have known everything, but he knew he did something wrong. Homer reached out for the car, and swiped it out of his head without giving him a chance to react. He held it close to his chest for a moment, staring at Frank like he just betrayed him, and put the little car back in its place.

'My toys!' He yelled. 'Don't touch!'

Frank held up his hands. 'S-Sorry! I-I didn't realise-'

'Don't touch!'

Homer stared up at Frank for several moments, giving him a look of rage, before he returned to his cars and smiled like nothing ever happened. Frank was about to turn around and go find his Mommy, but instead he sat himself down on the floor on the other side of the row of cars. He was tempted to reach out and grab another one, but he stopped himself.

'I'm Frank!' He said.

Homer didn't look up to him, but still responded with simply, 'Homer.'

Frank stared down at the cars too, a little confused by just about everything with his cousin. It almost felt like he was talking to a brick wall. Almost. Not one to give up, he decided to stay for just a little longer.

'Tell me about your cars!' He requested, with much enthusiasm.

Once again, Homer didn't move his head to look at him, but he must've been listening because he responded to his question in a few moments. He pointed to the red car, at the start of the line.

'That's Ronald.' He said, cheerfully, before he pointed to the orange one. 'And that's Ollie.'

He moved down the line in his chromatic arrangement, as Frank watched with great intent.

'He's Yella. And he's George. Then there's Ben. And-'

'What's her name?' Frank asked.

He pointed to the final car in the line, the purple one. It didn't stand out in any way, other than its colour, just like all the other cars. It left Homer stuck for an answer.

'Her?' He repeated.

'Yeah, what's her name?'

Her? Homer knew that meant 'girl'. Yet, he was certain that car was a boy, just like the other cars. He was sure that they were all boys. But now, Frank was telling him that the final car, the purple one, was actually a girl. Was Homer wrong? Did Frank see something he didn't? He looked at the purple car again.

Actually, maybe Frank was right.

'I…' He said. 'I don't know. I always thought she was a boy car, so I named her Paul.'

Frank shook his head. 'I'm sure Paul is a girl. Call her Paulina instead! I think it will make her much happier.'

'Well, okay then! That purple car is Paulina!'

'I hope Paulina doesn't mind being the only girl.'

'She's okay with it. Don't worry.'

Homer expected it to be odd, referring to his definitely-male car as 'Paulina', but somehow it seemed to fit. Among his otherwise all-male group of cars, Paulina now certainly seemed to be the only female.

'How did you know that Paulina was a girl?' Homer asked.

Frank shrugged. 'I dunno. I just… kinda knew.'

Homer looked up into Frank's eyes, for the first time since he arrived. There was something off in those eyes of his, but he wasn't quite sure what. If eyes were the windows to the soul, as his teacher once said, then everyone else's windows had to be blurry because he couldn't see through them very well.

'You okay, Frank?' He asked, just like his mother told him too.

'Oh, I'm okay.' Frank answered. 'I just… I know how Paulina feels.'

Homer blinked a couple of times in confusion. 'Why?'

Frank sat there in thought, whipping his hair around as he tried to think of the answer. The way his hair flew about for a moment made his long shiny ponytail especially notable, not that Homer knew enough about the world to question it yet. If Frank were any older, he might be able to explain himself a lot better. As it was, he was simply too young to understand it himself.

'I…' He stammered.

'Yeah?'

'I…' He sighed. 'I want you to call me 'Francine' instead of Frank.'

Homer's eyes widened. He stared at Frank for a few seconds, his mind completely blank. Not just a few seconds ago he learnt that 'Paul' was actually a 'Paulina', and now he was going through the same thing again… but even stranger.

'W-Why?' He asked.

'I don't know.' Frank admitted. 'But I just… I think I'm more of a Francine than a Frank. What do you think?'

Homer looked at him closer. Well, that long hair seemed to be more fitting of a 'Francine' than a 'Frank', but he still wasn't sure if that was right.

'But why?' He asked again. 'Francine is a girl's name. And you're a boy.'

'I-I know that…' Frank said. 'I like cars. And mud. And other stuff. But… I'm more of a Francine than a Frank. Simple as that.'

Homer looked at him even closer, his eyes going up and down over and over. No matter what, he still saw a boy before him. Albeit, a boy with long hair, but a boy nonetheless. He couldn't imagine how the name 'Francine' could possibly fit him more, but still his mother had taught him to be respectful. Though it made no sense to him no matter how much he thought about it, he smiled.

'Okay!' He said. 'I can call you Francine!'

Frank - or Francine, rather - beamed wider than he ever had before. 'Thank you thank you thank you!'

Homer noticed something a little odd about Francine's voice as he announced his gratitude. His voice sounded more high-pitched, which when combined with his long hair almost made him seem like an actual girl for a moment. For that one moment, Homer thought he was indeed looking at a real girl.

'So…' Francine said, tapping his fingers against his knees. 'What can ya do around here?'

Homer thought about it for a moment. 'Cows. You can see the cows.'

Francine beamed. 'Cows? Ooh, I like cows! Can you show me the cows?'

'I can show you the cows!'

So, little Homer and Francine left the cars behind, and headed out for the back door.

'So, tell me about Frank!'

Mona got some seats for her and Linda around the coffee table, and prepared some coffees for the both of them. Though she offered a seat for Abe, he was too occupied with the TV and figured he could join in on any stupid conversations from his chair anyway. Mona's question got Linda so excited that she nearly choked on her drink.

'Oh, he's an angel!' She cried. 'I've heard so many horror stories about little boys, but he's nothing like that. Well, there's the occasional tantrum, but he's four. What else are you expecting?'

Mona took a sip of her coffee, and gently placed the mug back on the table. 'Well,' She said with a slight laugh. 'He can't be that perfect. No one can be as perfect as my little Homie.'

Linda was about to add to the joke, before-

'HA!'

-Abe's abrasive 'laugh' cut her off.

'Stop living in denial, Mona!' He yelled.

He didn't elaborate on such a statement, and Mona could only roll her eyes for the one-thousandth time since they became parents. She didn't even have a response to him anymore, preferring to ignore him unless Homer was visibly uncomfortable with his words. Linda, on the other hand, had an interesting expression that appeared to be several confused expressions combined into one.

'Denial about what?' She asked.

'Oh, don't worry about it.' Mona replied with a wave of her hand. 'Homer is perfect. Even if he's a little… strange.'

'Strange? How so?' She gasped. 'I'm not being too personal, am I?'

'No no no, you're okay!' She paused to sip her coffee. 'It's alright to ask about it. Homer has just been a little, erm, late to his milestones. And, well…'

Mona sighed. Just thinking about it left a bad taste in her mouth before she even said it. Still, her sister-in-law was awaiting an answer, and she couldn't leave her hanging.

'Sometimes I feel like he throws tantrums too much.'

Linda giggled. 'Oh Mona, I wouldn't worry about that. Kids his age throw tantrums all the time! You have to-'

'No.' Mona said, cutting her off. 'I'm not saying that he's just a selfish kid or anything like that. What I mean is… I need an example. We were at the shops the other day, and while we were in the aisle, he just started kicking and screaming. It wasn't even like he was denied something he wanted or anything like that! Someone accidentally knocked him on his knees, and he just… freaked out.'

Of course, there was more to Homer's 'tantrum' than Mona realised. Being ignored by his parents over and over again while the bright lights and colours overwhelmed all added up quickly, and the final string had snapped. It was a shame, really, that Mona couldn't read his mind.

Linda stared into her coffee as her mind worked overtime to figure out what could've caused such 'strange' behaviour. She knew Mona wouldn't like the answer, but she believed it had to be said.

'Perhaps Homer has…' She said. 'Schizophrenia?'

Even as she said it, she sounded as if she wasn't at all sure. And, judging by Mona's irritated stare, it wasn't the answer that she wanted.

'Everyone keeps trying to diagnose Homer with something.' She remarked, resting her forehead in her hand. 'Abe keeps telling me that he might be 'of below average intelligence' - which is complete garbage - and you're not the first one to suggest schizophrenia. Why can't people just accept that Homer is perfectly fine?'

Linda stirred the coffee in her mug around with a spoon, for no other reason than to give herself something to focus on in the middle of this awkward discussion.

'Well…' She said. 'Have you heard of Donald Triplett?'

'Donald Triplett?' Mona thought for a moment. 'There was an article published about him about a decade ago, I think. He was from Mississippi, wasn't he? I can't remember for the life of me what else that article was about, though.'

'Donald had some development issues too. If I remember correctly, his condition was so strange that they made a new diagnosis just for him and a few other children: autism, I think it was. Do you think that Homer might have that too?'

Mona was in the middle of sipping her coffee when she placed the mug back down on the table, a little harder than usual. Linda flinched a little as Mona delivered a subtle but no less effective glare.

'Don't even suggest that.' She said, her voice low and almost monotone. 'I, of all people, shouldn't be accused of being a refrigerator mother. I've been giving Homer so much warmth that if anything that should be causing problems. And I can assure you there's no mercury poisoning or anything else like that happening with him, so don't start accusing me of that either.'

Linda put up her hands. 'I wasn't accusing you of being a 'refrigerator mother', I swear. I'm just saying that… the signs are there. And I do feel bad for you if that is the case.'

Mona grunted. 'Even if that was the case, I don't want to hear you treating my son like he's a tragedy. Homer is perfect, just the way he is, and I'll have no one tell me otherwise.'

Linda tapped her fingers together. She was silent for a few seconds before she finally dared to speak again.

'Do you think that, maybe…' She said. 'That you're in denial?'

'Absolutely she is!' Abe yelled, as if he was a part of this conversation.

Mona rolled her eyes. 'I can assure you, I'm not in denial.'

'I'm just wondering,' Linda continued. 'If, hypothetically, there is something wrong with Homer, is taking this approach of simply ignoring it really the way to go? If he really does have schizophrenia or autism or anything like that, I'm not sure if we should just pretend that there's nothing wrong. I don't think that's really going to help him.'

Mona did not respond, and just sipped at her coffee. Unfortunately for her, she was just as stubborn as her husband and son, and refused to admit that she had been worrying about Abe being right for the past few years. It was something she continued to ignore, as she did not want to think about Abe being the better parent out of the both of them.

Before the awkward conversation could continue, none other than Homer and Francine rushed past them. The young boys laughed as they ran through the kitchen, heading for the back door. Homer led the way with a big smile on his face, while Francine ran quick enough for all his long hair to fly everywhere. The little Simpson brought his cousin to the door, whereupon he opened it and the both of them ran outside into the cow fields.

Mona sighed in relief. 'Oh thank goodness… Homer seems to be getting along with Frank just fine.'

Linda went to drink more coffee, but only once she put her lips to the mug did she realise that she had already run out. Which was a problem, because she had a feeling she was going to need it for the discussion she was about to have.

'Listen Mona,' She said, her voice trembling ever so slightly. 'There's something I need to tell you about Frank.'

Mona gasped. 'Is he okay?'

'He's just fine. It's just that he…' She took in a deep breath. 'He much prefers it if you call him Francine instead of Frank.'

The mother Simpson stared at her blankly for several seconds until she managed a response.

'Excuse me… what?'

Francine didn't want to tell Homer this, but he found his encounter with the cows to be a little disappointing. He did not get the big beautiful bovines that he saw in the books at school, the ones with bright white fur and black patches and bountiful udders. What he got instead was an utter failure.

'And this one is named Bessie!' Homer said, pointing to the most healthy looking of all of them.

Francine laughed nervously, trying his best to hide his disappointment. To say that Bessie was the healthy looking one was only in comparison to the others. She was a lot skinnier than the cows in those pictures, and her fur was matted and dirty. Not to mention, her udders seemed a bit - what's the word? - overused. It wasn't like she appeared to be on death's door or anything - in fact, she seemed to have at least another year left in her - but it didn't look like she'd be producing milk of any quality, or any milk at all for the matter.

'She's… pretty.' Francine said, not wanting to offend his new friend.

'She's my fav-ur-rit!' Homer added, speaking as if he had no idea what he was saying.

'I can see why!'

That part wasn't a lie, though. When the other cows looked even worse than she did, it wasn't hard to see why Bessie was the favourite, especially compared to Hannah and her visible ribs. Homer rang the bell around her neck, and Francine could've sworn the old bovine smiled.

'Daddy says they're making less milk.' The young Simpson said, patting her neck. 'And we're gonna have to eat them soon!'

'What are ya gonna do when all the cows are eaten?' Francine asked.

'I… I don't know.'

Whether or not Homer realised it - or wanted to admit it - Francine could tell that the farm wasn't doing so hot. The farms in the picture books had lush green grass, and miles and miles of corn fields with a happy little scarecrow in the middle of it all. Not only was this farm's 'scarecrow' just a wooden cross without anything even resembling a head or body, but the grass was brown and the fields were wilting. This was certainly not what a farm was supposed to look like.

'If you eat all the cows,' Francine said. 'You might have to move, cos there wouldn't be-'

'MOVE?!' Homer cried, latching his arms around Bessie's neck. 'We can't move! This is our home.'

Francine flinched and stepped back a bit. 'I-I hope you don't have to, but you might.'

'NO! We'll never move!'

Francine didn't say anything on that matter, as he wanted to disagree with him but didn't want to upset him more. Homer smiled as he hugged Bessie's neck, either because he loved her as a friend or because he knew she'd be delicious. Perhaps even both.

'Do you wanna see the scarecrow?' He asked, suddenly happy again. 'He's losing his straw, but he's still kinda cool!'

Francine rubbed the back of his neck. 'Uh… I'm kinda bored. Can we go back inside and play with the cars?'

'Yeah, we can do that!'

'Linda, you can't be serious!'

Francine couldn't explain why, but he already thought that coming back inside was a bad idea.

Mona had delivered both the empty mugs to the sink to rinse them out. As she held them under the running tap, she had a look of clear irritation on her face, and seemed to be using the sink as an excuse not to look at Linda. The other woman stood behind her with her hands on her hips, though she looked less 'angry' and more 'wanting to be listened to'.

Homer didn't like it. Unlike Daddy, who constantly looked annoyed, Mommy almost never did unless she was in an argument. He recoiled away just a little when he saw the look on her face. Though both he and Francine just wanted to get back to the cars, the way there was through the kitchen and neither wanted to go through there.

'I know it sounds crazy,' Linda said. 'But she's just a lot happier if you-'

'I'm sorry,' Mona interrupted. 'She?'

Francine flinched. Somehow, he knew exactly what - or who, rather - they were talking about. In contrast, Homer hadn't a clue and couldn't even begin to figure out the problem.

'Sorry, it's a habit.' Linda explained. 'Frank prefers if you use female pronouns when he's in the room.'

'But why?' Mona demanded, putting the mugs down and turning around to face her sister-in-law. 'I try to understand these things, but… why?'

Linda shrugged. 'We don't know, to be honest. But it makes Frank happy, and that's all that matters.'

'But… should you really be feeding into this? I could let having him sleep the same bed as you, even now, slide, but this? Linda, your son is a boy. You shouldn't be telling him that he can just be a girl.'

Linda cringed; she could not have possibly regretted her decision to bring it up more than she did at that moment. She glanced to her left, and saw her long-haired son staring up at her. It almost made her wish that she never accepted the invitation in the first place.

She simply sighed. 'I'm sorry for bringing this up, Mona, but you have to accept it. My son… my daughter… wants to be called Francine, and I see no reason not to let her be called what she wants. If we can pretend that our kids are really cats or dragons, why can't we pretend that Francine is my daughter and not my son?'

Mona gritted her teeth. 'So he can grow up convinced that he can just change his gender like that?'

Linda rolled her eyes. 'What, and pretending that a kid is a dragon will convince him that he can just turn into a mythical beast? I'm sure Francine understands that becoming a girl is as impossible as being a dragon. It might upset her, the same way a kid may be upset that he can't be a dragon, but she'll live with it.' She paused. 'Hell, maybe it is possible for Francine to be a girl! Dragons may not exist, but girls certainly do.'

Mona opened her mouth, seemingly to argue with her some more, before she simply sighed. She rubbed her forehead, and put the mugs on the drying rack. The kitchen fell into silence, an empty void occupied only by the sounds of the old TV in the living room.

Homer turned to Francine and whispered, 'You wanna be a girl?'

He asked the question with curiosity and confusion strong in his voice, though one could easily hear shock and apprehension mixed into it. Francine picked up on the latter tones more than anyone could expect from a kid his - her? No, his - age, and flinched.

'Well, I-I-I…' He stammered, playing with his hands. 'M-Maybe? I-I don't know! I-I like being called Francine more than Frank, b-but…'

'Why would you want to be a girl?' Homer asked, his face slightly contorting with disgust.

'I-I don't know!'

If only Francine was any older, then he might be able to explain himself better. As it was, all he knew was that he was more comfortable with being called 'Francine', but couldn't for a moment explain why.

'I can try, Linda.' Mona said, unable to let go of her tensed-up body language. 'I'll accept that Frank wants to be called Francine. I can even accept that he wants to be called a girl. Just… don't be surprised if this ends up coming back to bite you.'

'It won't.' Linda stated. 'Don't think that you can teach me how to raise my son. I-I mean… my daughter.'

Francine managed to smile. If only he could explain why he loved being called a 'daughter' instead of a 'son', even though he was definitely a son and not a daughter as far as the world was concerned. For a moment, he imagined a world where he really was a girl. Such a shame that, as far as the world was aware, he was just as likely to become a dragon as he was to become a girl.

Homer stood there in his own little thoughts. Could he become a girl? The thought made him cringe; he liked being a boy too much to be a girl. Could Francine become a girl? He didn't worry too much about it. Clearly, one could only become a girl - or a boy, if it worked both ways - if they wanted to. He chuckled to himself - he couldn't imagine why Francine wanted to give up his ability to 'point and shoot' for the sake of being a girl.

'But,' Mona said, like her voice was trying to ram a gate down. 'I do warn you, Linda. I don't want 'Francine' convincing my Homie that he could spontaneously transform into a girl one day. If Homer starts asking me any difficult questions about it, I won't be allowing Francine over to play with him anymore. Do you understand?'

Through everything that was going on, Mona's attitude was the part that confused Homer the most. Was she pretending to be Daddy today, the same way Francine was pretending to be a girl?

Linda didn't respond to her sister-in-law's proposal at first, choosing to simply glare at her for a bit. After a while, she walked over to her son - her daughter - and placed a hand on her shoulder. She pulled her close just a little bit, and her glare reminded Homer of a mama bear threatening to attack anyone who dared hurt her baby.

'I can accept that.' Linda finally answered. 'Because if you're gonna act like that, then it's clear that this isn't a good place for my daughter to be.'

Author Notes - This is a genuine request from me. If there are any actual trans people reading this story, PLEASE let me know if I've gotten anything wrong. I am not trans myself, and thus can never be sure, but from what I've read from trans people online, this should be - at worst - a decent portrayal of the issue. If it is actually TERRIBLE, let me know, cos I wanna get this right. There's nothing worse than trying to represent an issue, only to screw it up majorly and do more harm than good.

For Francine, I'm going for a 'known it all along' kind of deal, even though she is far too young to really understand the why of the situation. Obviously, there are many trans people who don't realise this until later in life, but I'm not trying to act like Francine is the perfect trans character. That's because, simply put, there is no 'perfect trans character', because there is no 'perfect trans person' in the world.

Also, I've just kinda given up on trying to hide what's up with Homer in this story. I think most people have probably gathered it by now, and even if you haven't, we still need the characters themselves to figure it out.