Last week before my Mother-in-Law came for a brief visit, I cleaned the nasty basement, something that goes weeks without being touched. She slept on a bed in the basement, along with the dog kennel, the fooze ball table, and two couches. BTW, we did offer her one of the boys' bedrooms but being the martyr that she is, she refused and then complained the whole weekend about not sleeping well. But I digress.
In cleaning the bathroom, I emptied the trash to find a pair of boy's underwear, clearly not my sons', smeared with skid marks from holding off the inevitable too long. As I threw them out for good, I pondered whose they might be. Ah, ha! My braniac had a soccer team, pizza party here a few weeks back. Apparently, some boy thought it better to dispose of the evidence rather than explain it to his parent. Clever!
Had I been as clever I would have taken them to soccer practice yesterday, held them high above my head (pre-washed of course) and shouted, "Does anyone recognize these?" I'm sure the kid wouldn't claim them, put perhaps his embarrased Mother would have.