I'm a happy woman. I'm a happy woman, tra-la, tra-la, tra-laI heard this song wafting down from upstairs into the basement through the fumes of the mold spray. Joyfull after 41 years of marriage? Could it be the effects of the raw ginsing roots I've been munching on? Alas, no. My wife had just ordered a replacement washer/dryer for the one month old ones we lost in Sandy and was told they were finally in stock and would be delivered this Thursday.
I'm a happy man. I'm a happy man, tra-la, tra-la, tra-la.No more traipsing to Brooklyn to sit in laundromats or going begging at the homes of friends. And being able to take hot yoga without having the wet clothes tossed outside on the deck by yiu know who. Tra-la.