My left brain attacked the problem by starting at the beginning. Apparently my parents did not have long to wait for the amusement I was to provide. When I was a toddler, back in those pre-plastic days, my toidie seat (bathroom booster) was made of wood. That was lucky, or I suppose I would still be wearing the one I managed to fit over my head one day . Retraction was futile and my sainted father, who was a talented woodworker among other things, was tasked with sawing it off my neck. My mother cried throughout, I am told. I have no recollection of event but was frequently reminded of its occurence. Every new boyfriend was regaled with it, as a matter of fact. I probably should have run away from home, given this mental abuse, but I was too short to climb up the bus steps at the time.
And, oh yes, the milkman called me "Sonny," and my pediatrician used to pretend that he was a girl. Pretty sure he was kidding. I adored him, despite his evident confusion. I didn't really have a chance, did I?