“Hey, Ace, you know what the difference between me and you is?”

The asexual blinked away from the book open in their lap. Bigfoot faced them across the sunny park bench, grinning.

“At least twenty percent of America believes I’m a real thing!”

Bigfoot slapped the table with a shaggy palm and guffawed. Ace fumed back down at their book.

“Oh, go get disproven, would you.”

One more for the road before Camp Nano kicks off, since I know you would all perish otherwise. Seriously, though, sometimes being asexual is kind of a pain–I can only carry so many pins, after all.

I get a lot of blank looks, a lot of squinty-eye, and a lot of polite sure-whatever-you-say nods. I mean, Jesus, if it makes people feel better, I’ll just tell them I’m not interested because I think they’re ugly, or I hate their dog, or something. But ah, well. I’ve gotta suck it up, remember to be patient, and explain, even if not everyone will buy it. They aren’t me.

(If anyone doesn’t completely understand, feel free to ask me questions. Reach out anytime. Better to ask than assume!)