ON THE MORNING after my sex-change operation I was sitting outside at the Thinkers Cafe in Potrero Hill, eating a bowl of granola with fresh fruit and yogurt ($4.75).

I'm sorry. I shouldn't write sentences like that without first making sure everyone is sitting down, seat belts fastened. Trays in the upright position. It's just that ... things tend to get sort of spring-loaded in the closet. Anyway, the signs were all there, if your eyes were open. Rumors flew. And I'm here to tell you, live and in person, that it's true. You heard me right: Granola. Fresh fruit. And, yes: yogurt.

I have made the leap. And, as I was explaining to my nephew Jaybird down at the Thinkers, "It's funny, but the first thing you notice about health food, when you start eating it regularly – out in the open, I mean – is, well: what's the fuss? Would be how I'd put it."

"Mm-hmm," said Jaybird, biting into his breakfast wrap: eggs, ham, green onions, cheese, jalapeños, salsa ($4.75). "Do you want a bite?"

"No thanks," I said, although it did look good. "Not that I don't eat that stuff too. That's my point. I still feel exactly like me, inside. I just don't have to force the issue, you know?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Yeah, see, I still love barbecue. Do I need to eat it two out of three meals a day? No. Same with eggs, cheese, and butter. The thing is, I realized one day, not that I don't enjoy these things; but really the real reason I'm having a third helping of this three-meat lasagna is to impress people. To maintain an image. And a false one at that. Life is short. Life is precious. Even if this bowl of granola instead of a tall stack of pancakes with sausage, syrup, and butter adds one lousy minute to my life ... Hey, I'm going to fucking love that lousy minute."

"Mm-hmm."

"It's going to be one hell of a fucked-up minute. My favorite one, maybe." I took a sip of coffee. Jaybird was already finished with his, done with his wrap too. "Sixty seconds," I said. I started tapping my finger on the table, to emphasize the point, but I didn't go past 10.

"So," said my nephew, who is 18 and smooth and one of this century's great thinkers, so far. "So, what did you say about a sex change?"

I fingered the little tiny stainless steel earring in my left earlobe. There was one in the right ear too, but my right hand was busy with the spoon, scooping up blueberries, banana, grapes, cantaloupe, strawberry, cranberries. "Got my ears pierced," I said. "You like them?"

"Yeah. When'd you do that?"

"Last night."

"Hurt?"

I thought I had one of everything in my spoon finally, and I savored the strange combo-sensation. Fruit and berries taste better outside than inside, I believe. "It hurt for a second," I said. "Not as painful, I'd imagine, as the more customary gender-reassignment surgery."

We were sitting at one of two sidewalk tables. On the other side of an open window, inside the cozy little café, a guy was working on a laptop computer. I hoped he was listening in.

"Not as many procedural hoops, either," I said. "Although I did have to initial some things and sign my name on three or four lines. Five minutes, 15 bucks."

Jaybird was laughing. "What, are you from Ohio or something?" he said. "A lot of guys get their ears pierced."

"Yeah," I said, "but not for the same reason I did, I don't think."

Thinkers Cafe, if you stay for lunch (we didn't), offers some good-sounding sandwiches (like goat cheese and roasted red peppers on focaccia) for $5.95 – which is at least cheaper than Hazel's a couple blocks down the hill on 18th. They also have ham and cheese, in case you're not concerned about minutes yet.

Pasta salad, tuna salad, chicken salad, salad salad, a hummus plate, and two kinds of soup every day. Plus all the traditional coffeehouse fare: bagels, pastries, cakes, cookies. And very good coffee.

When Jaybird finally stopped laughing, he asked whether I was his uncle or aunt.

"Well, you never called me Uncle anyway. So I'm still just Dan." I drank the last of my lukewarm coffee. "Only now it's short for Danielle instead of Daniel."

Thinkers Cafe. 1631 20th St. (at Connecticut), S.F. (415) 285-8294. Mon.-Fri., 6:30 a.m.-7 p.m.; Sat.-Sun., 7:30 a.m.-6 p.m. Takeout available. Beer and wine. Credit cards not accepted. Wheelchair accessible.

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Dan Leone is the author of Eat This, San Francisco (Sasquatch Books), a collection of Cheap Eats restaurant reviews, and The Meaning of Lunch (Mammoth Books).