In the army, I had a female friend who lived in the barracks. Back in those days male soldiers weren’t supposed to go into the women’s barracks section but she invited me and I went. No one paid a bit of attention anyway. She was a friend only — not like we were going to get up to any hanky-panky in her living quarters.

On the outside she was a tough-ass paratrooper chick who beat out most men on physical fitness tests and ran just absurd times on the two-mile run; but once I got inside her room, I had to laugh because it was a bunch of frilly princess stuff and sparkles and fairy lights everywhere. “Amy,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting this. Ariel? Snow White?”

“This stuff got me through a bad childhood. It’s a refuge for me. But don’t tell anyone.”

And I didn’t, until now, when no one could possibly identify her. She was a pretty damn cool woman.