Tom

I know what they say about milkmen but I was happily married and never took advantage. I drove my horse-cart across rutted lanes, deep in mud both in the fall and in the spring. Winter was OK except the milk would start to freeze and I had to move slowly over the frozen ruts. I liked it better than posing with my sister, pretending to be something we’re not— because nobody appreciated what we actually are. Many people on my route thought it was funny my hair was as white as the milk.