The Missus is back from a press trip. I am filling her in on my activities during her absence and I mention I took one of the bags of clothes the Boy had sorted out for charity to the drop-off point.
'Which bag would that be?'
'The smaller of the two bags...'
'The bag with the Boy's old boxer shorts?'
'The bag I told you not to take because they don't want old boxer shorts with the crotch worn through?'
'You never said that...'
'I did. You just chose to ignore me...'
'But they do want stuff like that.'
'Why would they want old boxer shorts with worn-through crotches?'
'To recycle as rags...'
'...to stuff children's toys with.'
'So in your world children's toys are stuffed with the old boxer shorts of teenage boys? Boxer shorts with the crotches worn through?'
'It's not particularly hygienic, is it?'
'It helps children build up resistance to disease...'
'You're an idiot...'
It's good to have her home.