Here I am, facilitating. With the fan heater pointed directly at me. And biscuits on the table. I know how to work.
There is also an errant ironing board, which has nothing to do with me. I don't iron my own clothes (nothing wrong with the shake and 'hand-iron' rub), let alone facilitate domesticity in others. For that sort of thing, indeed to make it easy (sophisticated pun on the etymology of the word FACILE-itate), I'd be better off handing over to my good friend, Lotta Quizeen.
She even knows how to fold a fitted sheet. And since I'm moving in with my girlfriend this week - and apparently the bed is not an acceptable place to leave a cereal bowl, who knew - I might be in serious need of some tips from Lotta, in the 'rituals, responsibilities and realities of domesticity'. The beautiful Miss Fox not only has high standards, but also has an impressively popular blog (it's a good thing I'm not competitive, she lies) as a platform for mocking me. Might need to up my game. And stop looking confused when she mentions cleaning products I've never even heard of, let alone knew you needed a special product to clean whatever it is she's brandishing. I wonder if Lotta does home visits?