MIA jeans
Three pairs of jeans, purchased at the end of summer, are missing. I go through the laundry room, my dresser, and my entire half of our walk-in closet, which gives me time to sort (and renew acquaintance with) the handbags lined up under the blouses. I promise myself I'll try on the ten pairs of trousers folded on the shoe rack, so I leave those in the closet aisle. We're usually pretty ruthless about taking empty hangers out of the closet, but there are a few wooden ones to return to the laundry room. The wire ones get tossed into W's drycleaner hamper for recycling.
Still no jeans. I send an email to our youngest, who lives in our basement. Maybe he snagged them with his clean wash. I hear the basement door slam behind him as he runs off to his college classes.
Still no jeans. I send an email to our youngest, who lives in our basement. Maybe he snagged them with his clean wash. I hear the basement door slam behind him as he runs off to his college classes.