Here is an extract from my part of the pamphlet:
After we were married we moved into a tenement flat in the West End of Glasgow. I was pleased about it because of the emerald tiles in the hallway outside the flat and the lamps you turned on by tapping the base.
Now I was living away from home I could buy whatever shampoos, soaps, or washing-up liquids that I wanted and they wouldn’t be interfered with by all my wretched younger siblings. I explained to my husband the correct formulas to choose which changed according to my whim, once honey and willowbark, then lavender and chamomile. One day my husband came home with an unscented product. The look on my face made him wince and he never did it again.
He could never get it right, my husband: his sensitive skin; his mishandling of the nasturtium tea towels; the way he constantly practised the flute when I was trying to think of what to have for dinner. I stopped fucking him after a while, everything outside the window in Glasgow was cruel and shiny, and nobody wanted me either. Instead of sex, I made lists in my head of products to buy and things to make for dinner.
At night I couldn’t sleep for thinking of avocados, so good and so filling.