Our Parents Really did Know Everything

Last Friday, the sweater I most wanted to wear was wrinkled. Crushed by all the other sweaters I own, it showed all the misery I’d put it through last summer. Yes, I’d forgotten all about it. Yes, I have plenty of other clothes to wear. But this one sweater is the one I wanted on that particular morning, and I sent Dear Man to the dryer, carrying the sweater and a hand towel I’d briefly run under the tap. “Ten minutes, on low,” I instructed him. “It should be good enough to wear by the time I...