A semi-autobiographical rambling I came up with back in 2009. Follow our hero (me, of course) as she navigates the strange and exciting world of share-house living. Featuring a cast of lovable oddballs and told in adorably disjointed prose.

Written by B. Phillips

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I stared. The dame in the mirror stared back. I tossed my head, she tossed hers (not in a gay way).

Looking good,  Bridgey, I thought to myself, admiring the way my hair cascaded over pale shoulders, teasingly revealing just a hint of firm, supple breasts beneath the flowing locks. I eyed the rest of my reflection. Long, smooth legs, slim, taut stomach… Yes sir. Things were looking good. I slid a hand down, inching towards-

“Bridget!” A voice startled me, and I fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs. “Are you molesting the mannequin again?”

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