There is a soft cotton handkerchief in my mother’s top dresser drawer that is so worn thin you can see through it. It must be fifty years old. Maybe more. She got it as a gift from her sister who was my aunt. The sister worked in a laundry and my mother who was a lot younger had to deliver lunch to the sister every day. In telling this story, my mother called the laundry a sweat shop. She said her sister sat outside on the curb and ate the sandwich and fruit my mother brought her every day. Even if it was 100 degrees outside, her sister said it was cooler than being in the laundry. I cannot visit a Laundromat or dry cleaners without remembering my Aunt. It can make me cry if I’m already having a bad day. My mother says that I’m too emotional. It’s all how you look at things I tell her.