Today, something absolutely chilling happened to me. I’m still shaking so hard that my hands are trembling and I’m feeling lightheaded (could be the four N95 masks I’m currently wearing). Let me explain.

My young daughter, Charcuterie, misgendered the Kombucharista at our local Kombucha bar. Our day began like any other day with me getting up early and making my soy latte. I baked organic scones using free-range, wild-caught, Non-Gmo, Paleo Approved Cricket Flour. They tasted like chewing on a clump of damp sawdust, but eating food like that is what we must do to help fight climate change.

Because Charcuterie, my youngest child, finished reading How Do Undo Whiteness For Kids, I told her I’d take her out for a treat. I even let her wear her brother’s drag queen wig and go maskless for ONE hour.

We went to the Kombucha bar and Charcuterie, in front of the nonbinary, gender-fluid person of color who was serving our drinks, said loudly, “Can SHE also make me a snack?”

I wish that the vinyl plank flooring would have opened like a trapdoor and taken me down into the pits of hell because at once my face grew red and what was even worse if that my daughter didn’t realize her grave mistake.

Typically, I believe wholeheartedly in Free Range Parenting, where kids do what they want with little consequence, but today, I instructed Charcuterie to go into her room and type out “I will not assume someone’s gender” one hundred times on her iPad.

We have to stay on top of our kids so this doesn’t happen again. I shudder to imagine how the Kombucharista is going to feel for the rest of they’s day.