Donna stood on my front door step, looking at me expectantly.
“Come on in,” I said, and — because I couldn’t help myself- I looked for a male partner. That’s my generation. However, because I’m not totally my generation, not seeing one, I assumed- rightfully so- that if Donna was the rep for Stanley Steemer, then she knew what she was doing. If she hadda move furniture, she could do it without my help.