He had a William Shatner thing going.  He was older than me, by at least twenty years, but young, nice jeans, good shoes, great smelling cologne that I caught a whiff of as he whizzed by with his tool box.  He sang to himself as he walked from his van to my front door. I was in denial about my dryer, the rattling that got louder and louder that one week, during softball season where there was mud on all of my daughter’s clothes.   With a family of five, Laundromat was a dirty word.  I desperately called around to … Continue reading →