And a dog named Molly.
My friend B has a dog named Molly. But Molly is a boy. B refers to Molly as "she" quite a lot. There's a specific history to this; nowhere else in his life does B confuse the genders of animals or humans.
I am sitting at the gym, where B works, and Molly sleeps by the desk. A guy comes to the desk on his way out, a regular gym member. This fella is one of those "impressive but not attractive" types. He is pretty un-handsome, with dark circles under his sunken eyes that, along with his shaved head, give him the look of a skull. He is big and broad and tattooed, if not aesthetically so. And having seen him in the showers, his gender is not at all in doubt. Not at all.
Anyway, he comes by on his way out and asks about the dog, whether it's a boy or a girl. B explains that he's a boy but that his name is Molly and I add that Bill has a strange habit of calling him "she." Skull guy says it makes no difference, since "she owns us all."
"You mean the dog?", I ask.
"No, she. The big she."
I apparently register some kind of discordant reaction on my face, because Skull guy asks, archly, "Oh, are you one of those 'masculine' guys?"
He then flicks his wrist and swirls his meaty hand my way, dismissive-drag-queen style, with this parting thought, "Well, you're all still just faggot cocksuckers."
Gay liberation. Great stuff, eh?