“Don’t run through the sheets,” mama warned. Everyone knows if you tell a child not to do something, that something is exactly what he or she will want to do. I am no exception. The fresh smell of sheets beckoned to me every time. I often wondered who declared that laundry had to be done on Monday. A clue perhaps the seven embroidered tea towels held by fourteen wooden clothespins that indicated the main chore for each day of the week. Monday’s towel showed a young lady with a wash basket and every yard in my neighborhood indicated compliance.
This is an excerpt from Running Through Sheets, a memoir, available soon.