Miss Thing is a post card and I believe she originally had been hung by my roommate and landlord on the door to the laundry room in our San Francisco flat. I adore her. I adore the absurdity of her. I spotted her when packing up to move across town and simply couldn't leave without her. Isn't she precious? Isn't she perfect? ...the shoes, the hat, the Capri Pants? Aren't clean towels wonderful! One has to wonder what her theme music would be. Could we expect a crescendo as she opens the door to the machine or when the fresh, fluffy, warm clean towel is placed up to hug her face? Would we then see a sparkle in her eyes? Or have we just accepted her continuous, never ending gleam of joy? Let us hope her satisfaction remains forever.