Oh, but ask a man about a woman, and he’ll tell you that her body is so very different from his, that it holds empty spaces that stretch and hold mysteries, that measure time with strange and bloody clocks—whose empty spaces are those? Who holds their precious title? Ask a man again, and he’ll argue that the case is not so simple when the sex is switched. The mere pockets of air inside men that erupt in belches and farts are of little account, but the spaces inside women are meant by God for so much more that women’s ownership of them is clearly only ever provisional.
