chapter 1 - a bathroom of one's own

In which our heroine discovers the curative powers of housework.

I've just turned a corner in my life and found my inner Mom standing in the middle of the road holding a toilet brush. This is the way to mend a broken heart: with the power of oxy clean. With the fresh citrus scent of fanfuckingtastik.

Oh my god, Self. I've never seen you this way; are you sure you're OK?

Why, sure I am, honey - (peering under the fridge) Say, is that some dust under there?

But Self, you're going through some big changes - don't you think you should take some time to think about what it all means? I mean, who are you now? Aren't you freaking out?

No, silly goose! I know exactly who I am. I'm the lady who makes sure this place is spit spot! I won't stand for any sloth around here.

But it's just you.

OK, you little brat. To your room! Go and listen to your 'rock and roll' music, missy.