In our house, it is the obligation of each person to go through their pockets before putting their jeans in the laundry. I check anyway, almost every time, and if I find money, it’s mine.
(I mean, I’ve never followed through on that, but they don’t know that…for sure.)
But as with many other things, the rules are different for my good lady wife, for a variety of reasons. The first is that she works easily twice as hard as I do, and maybe thrice. and I work, conservatively, 5x as hard as the rest put together. So different sets of standards on different things apply.
Also, I simply love her more than I love them. So.
So. I didn’t expect Top Management to empty her pockets before I washed her jeans tonight, because I’m the one who grabbed them and brought them down. But I went through her pockets anyway.
Did I find money? I did not.
Did I find pens? I did not.
Did I find gum? I did not. (Semi-suprisingly.)
Did I find love letters to or from her to another man, known by our offspring as The New Guy? I may or may not have.
Did I find peanuts? In both front pockets?
I most certainly did.
Quite a few peanuts?
You betcha.
Why?
Because, of course, she keeps peanuts on hand at all times.
To feed the crow army she’s assembling.
I don't stand a chance.
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