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“What the hell, man?” he said, looking at me like I'd grown an extra nose.“She, uh, needed her ashes hauled.” I stammered, still not quite bel...eving what had just happened.“I'll bet she did.” he replied, grinning at me, “What ever you did, can you teach me.”“Don't know,” I said, “the details are still a little fuzzy to me.”As we walked down the concourse, I pulled the paper towel out of my pocket. “Sandra (Sandi) Fowler “327 S. Olive Ave. “555-1234”She had made all the periods and dots little. She was in her late fifties and earned the nickname by literally mothering all the younger females in the office and it was given with love. She had married when she was just seventeen and had just celebrated her fortieth wedding anniversary.I’d been hit on by a salesman at the office and was complaining to Martha. “I know I’ve been out of the dating pool for awhile, but are all men horn dogs now? It seems like everywhere I go they stare at me.”She grinned. “The short answer to that is yes. You. More

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