A man and a woman lived together. On one evening he did not come back from work. And she waited. She kept on waiting and she grew littler and littler. Later, a neighbour stopped by out of friendship and there he found her, in the armchair, the size of a pea.An excerpt from a story written in 1947 and printed in red on a two-hundred and forty-five foot long scarf... I'm wondering the significance of "On one evening" or whether that's just a typo in the show notes.
The thing is I've felt this. And I've seen this happen to women. You find them gathered in storm drains. It's good for drainage actually, the roundness, but that is really not the point. Perhaps this is what makes a feminist?