Gary and I have been doing some muddy, sweaty yardwork, and as such, every day we've been stripping in the laundry room, putting the mud-soaked clothes in the washer, and then padding naked through the house directly to the shower.
Friday, when I was at work, Gary looked for his clothes, didn't see them, and then remembered they were probably in the dryer.
Evidently he tried them on in the living room.
The reason they are still in the living room is, as he told me, "The shirt was a little tight, so I figured it shrank, but then the jeans wouldn't fit me at all."
I wish I had been there to watch him try to put on my jeans. I might have said."Hey, you didn't do any yardwork yesterday, I did. Sometimes I like to coordinate what I wear so that we match — not obviously, but I’ll wear a green t-shirt if you're wearing a green t-shirt ... even though we are way too old for such shenanigans."
Would I have said that? I like to think I would have just watched him struggle to put on my clothes.