I just refuse to buy anything that has to be dry cleaned… or ironed…

My family has been doing our dry cleaning at a small dry cleaner in our neighborhood for the past six years, when we moved to town. The tiny Asian woman who owns the shop also owns the same green Plymouth Voyager minivan as my family; one day, while my sister and I sat in the car, my mom went in to retrieve the dry cleaning. Exiting the shop, she walked over to the dry cleaner’s car, thinking it was ours, and opened the door. She actually hung our newly retrieved dry cleaning inside the owner’s van and tried to put the key in the ignition, before realizing it was the wrong car. All the while, my sister and I were laughing and gesturing wildly, as was the shopowner. Realizing her mistake, my mother returned to our car in embarassment; from that day on, the shopowner referred to my mother as “Same Van Lady” – and to this day, my mother never says she is doing the dry cleaning; rather, she is going to “Same Van Lady.”