This is naturally a true story, though due to strange and obvious social reasons it is still impossible to name this disgusting green man, or the girl. So it goes in the name of Pom. She is a matured girl. She will be able to handle it. Eventually.
One reason behind remembering this story after such a long time is Phoebe Gloeckner. If not the story itself (and it’s not), the necessity of presenting it is certainly stolen from her great books – A Child’s Life and Diary of a Teenage Girl. But that’s not a matter of guilt, as the poet said – when you can’t find the correct word or the correct husband, steal it.