Helen G is caught in a sunwashed bedroom doorway, an auburn-haired wisp of a girl with a heavy fringe, a petite slender frame and the kind of pin-up posture that tips the whole room sideways. She wears a cropped cobalt-blue vest pulled tight over a polka-dot bra, a tiny black high-waisted hotpants short, and vivid red tights that saturate her toned thighs and slim calves down to chunky black platforms. She loiters beside a wooden dresser and mirror, bathed in warm daylight, her dewy skin glowing against that candy-box collision of blue, red and black.

Helen turns her back to the camera and peels those little shorts over the peachy curve of her bottom, the red hosiery stretched taut, a cheeky butterfly tattoo flashing at the small of her back as she wriggles the waistband free. She strips down to the polka-dot bra and the red tights clinging like second skin, golden light raking across her flat tummy and the slender arch of her waist, her grin all mischief and sugar. A novel way to do some dusting indeed, and one that makes every other household chore look woefully undressed by comparison.