"Please, we cannot have anyone sniffing at your power, oh Divine Mother. We will try to accommodate you in our city before your eventual departure." Armstrong's voice was deferential, now worshipful, and the shift in his demeanor was disturbing.
"Hold on! Why are you referring to me as 'Divine Mother?'," I recoiled and stepped back, my hands raised in a gesture of protest. "And you sound like you want me to leave the city as soon as possible!"
We argued a bit, but we cleared up somethings:
"I'm a man, not a woman, okay?" I'd said it slowly, deliberately, enunciating each word like I was teaching a child their first lessons in basic vocabulary. "Man. Male. He. Him. Do you understand?"
"As you will, my goddess." He'd nodded serenely, his red eyes crinkling with what I could only describe as benevolent condescension.
The title had been spoken with such reverence, such earnest devotion, that I almost couldn't be angry.
As we can see, not everything was well understood by him.
