A man kept manspreading into my plane seat for hours—when he returned from the restroom, he shouted, “What the hell did you do?!”

The only thing I will say is that at no point in four hours did he do anything to that girl that he did not also do to me, and she got four and a half hours more of it than I did, and the difference between us was not that I stood up to him.

It is that a cabin manager had one spare seat and offered it to the older woman.

And the forty retellings, which I have counted and which is not a figure of speech.

I started a note in the February, after the woman outside the chemist, because I wanted to know.

Thirty-one by the time I stopped counting in the August, and that is only the ones I told myself.

And there is a shape to it that I did not design and that arrived on its own by about the fourth telling.

It opens with the size of me. Five foot two, sixty-one, on my own. That is in every version, because it does a job.

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