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November 6, 2001
There she stood, all alone in the cleaning aisle. Blue apron, her gray hair buzz cut really short. I think she was stocking the shelves. As the overhead musak played, she silently danced, not knowing anyone was watching. I was, then interrupted the scene with my question.

I don’t know if I want to mop.

The noun and verb. She looked stunned. No man can go a week without mopping. What about those floors? They must be clean. I told her I wouldn’t insult her dancing. Replying that she’d never come and visit or scold me for my dirty floors.