Dirty Laundry

My thirteen-year-old was snooping around in the clothes dryer the other day and I said, "Hey! What are doing in my laundry?"

"Looking for my bra," came her reply.

"There's nothing but my stuff in there so just back off."

On the surface that may sound harsh, but when you are the only guy in a house full of women, you must enforce some boundaries or you will drown in a sea of estrogen.

My laundry is my laundry with an emphasis on the pronoun "my." I don't want any items that could be described as: silky, frilly, lacy, low-cut, sheer, petite or pink rolling around with my guy stuff. I've got blue jeans in there that I wear when I'm doing manly feats like building a deck or cutting down trees with a chainsaw. Sometimes, while wearing my jeans, I stand around with other men after completing our feats of strength and we drink beer. I don't want my jeans covered in anything but dirt, sweat and grease.

You can bet your bottom dollar that John Wayne's cowboy shirts never tumbled around the laundry with any kind of lingerie. It's just not natural.