She sits on the edge of the pink plastic bath having successfully performed a potentially messy manouevre. Her jeans lie in a crumpled heap, disturbing the dust under the radiator.
Her toes slowly wriggle within purple woolly socks, the only visible movement she has made during the last minute.
She stares at the small plastic device held in her unwashed hands; a Schrödinger moment, she thinks, when she exists in two opposing states. Observation will resolve the paradox, her very own cat in a box.
Her toes clench as she strains to detect the appearance of a small blue line.