It is drizzling. Of course it is. The damp air smells of metro fumes and a hint of Terre d'Hermès as I painfully drag my suitcase up the stairs and onto le boulevard Saint Michel. I look around. Red lipstick stands out against the gray sky.
Imagine you are a man living amid the Paleolithic millennia. If you were seeking great rewards from beyond the mortal realm, would you mutilate yourself, or submit to an order of mutilation, to become as much a woman as would be possible to you?