Whenever I do laundry, I think back to the lessons I learned in the laundromats. The lessons gifted me by Black women.
They taught me to shake out my towels and jeans. (You do want your clothes to dry, don’t you, honey?)
And to keep an eye out for recently vacated dryers. (Use their heat when you can!)
There was no reason for them to help me, but they did. And every time I do a load, even now that I’m lucky enough to be able to do them at home, I think of them and their kindnesses. The debts I owe Black women, both big and small, both seen and unseen. I’m grateful they chose to help me, to share their wisdom with an awkward white girl, new to the neighborhood, new to the struggle, new to the fight.
Pretty Good Ugly 