I have a firm rule about laundry in this house: If it ends up in the hamper, I'll wash it. If it's on the floor, I will not pick it up or deal with it in any way. So, if a couple of resident children leave all their dirty clothes on the floor, they'll eventually run out of clean stuff and be forced to wear the stuff they hate. Or just get their dirty laundry to where it belongs. Either way, it's not my responsibility to bend over and pick up lots of dirty garments when there are three other able-bodied humans in this house capable of doing so.
Last night, as we were tucking Graceful into bed, I noticed a large pile of laundry on the floor. Commenting nonchalantly to Pete, I said, "Hmmm... It appears that someone won't have too many clean clothes left pretty soon." Pete responded with, "Yeah, and then she'll have to do what I did in college."
[Long, expectant pause as all ears in the house perked up in anticipation of what would be said next...]
"I used to throw all my dirty clothes on the floor and when I ran out of clean clothes, I'd sort through the dirty stuff and sniff to see which stank less. Then I'd wear dirty clothes that day."
From across the hall in Elegant's room came the sound of delighted guffawing, followed by, "Daddy, that's so funny! You should write that down in a book!"
Pete looked at me and said under his breath, "No, but I'm sure someone will be writing somewhere."
And here it is.