Recently I noticed my underwear collection had dwindled to meagre amounts. I checked the laundry; they hadn't been eaten by the machine. I asked my cousins. I asked the cats. I searched the house. I looked under my bed and behind the TV. I made jokes about having a stalker who was stealing them. I eventually bought some of those pink floral undies designed for obese children from Woolworths and promptly forgot the whole ordeal had ever happened. Forgot, that is, until in the early hours of the morning, freezing cold and pre-coffee, I found myself stuffing my underwear into the bin in the bathroom instead of the dirty washing hamper.
I probably should never work with small children.