Our last night at the Sheraton, we have din­ner at the astoun­din­gly over­pri­ced “casual Mexican” res­tau­rant on the pre­mises, Dos Caminos. You pass as a guy ; I, as pre­gnant. Our wai­ter cheer­ful­ly tells us about his fami­ly, expresses delight in ours. On the sur­face, it may have see­med as though your body was beco­ming more and more “male,” mine, more and more “female.” But that’s not how it felt on the inside. On the inside, we were two human ani­mals under­going trans­for­ma­tions beside each other, bea­ring each other loose wit­ness. In other words, we were aging.