“Well, you can go right on being all that’s lovely.” No I can’t, I’m scrubbing the toilet, maybe you didn’t catch that. And anyway, there’s more to it than that. The toilet-scrubbing’s just a symptom. It’s 1945, and this is the glamour girl’s ultimate fate, Sani-Flush to the rescue or not. I remember something in Marilyn French’s The Woman’s Room about this, how no matter how educated or liberated you get – or how evolved the menfolk get (don’t hold your breath, it’s 1945 after all) – the toilet bowl will still be there, demanding a scrub. It’s one of those inevitable things in life. The sun rises, the sun sets. And stuff in the house just keeps getting dirty over and over. No more Stork Club for you!