On verboten realities; on lessons in ‘radical’ theft; and on the progressive desperation to have an interesting child, one way or another:

Having, as she does, a degree in gender studies, Ms Myers is vexed by many things. Such as being asked, kindly, while pregnant, whether she was expecting a boy or a girl. This, we’re informed, is not “a simple question with a simple answer.”

Says she, “My partner Brent and I had found out our child’s sex chromosomes in the early stages of my pregnancy, and we had seen their genitals during the anatomy scan. But we didn’t think that information told us anything about our kid’s gender.”

No, of course. No clues there. No information at all, in fact. Just random noise.

Needless to say, Ms Myers’ website and Twitter feed are an endless churn of unconvincing smiles and rather desperate progressive signalling. We learn, for instance, that “Knowing the sex of a baby… does not tell us anything about the child’s… attitudes toward climate change.”

All this and more.

On maths purged of “whiteness”; on the alleged thrill of not owning stuff; and on the crime-fighting powers of the “non-binary” barista:

“Now that I think about it, like, I’m more qualified than a cop to come deal with half the situations that we would call them for,” says our coffee-serving, police-defunding “they/them, 22.”

“I’m a Starbucks barista at a drive-through,” says they. “I’ve de-escalated situations with people with guns… I’ve cooled shit down faster and better than a cop could.”

Readers are welcome to share clips of lively scenes to test this rather boastful hypothesis. It would, I think, have the makings of a compelling reality TV show. With preening, mouthy woke-lings encountering the realities they’ve so carefully ignored.

The subsequent tears and meltdowns could constitute a drinking game.

On “non-binary” motherhood and other complications of the modern narcissist:

“Everything came to a head after I became a mother,” says she. Well, pretensions of themness, the craving to seem special – perhaps more special than one is – would, I suppose become harder to sustain. Given the arrival of someone more important, someone whose needs tend to come first.

You see, she’s a mother, but not a woman. And how dare you not know that.