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Thunderthighs has decided to change his trousers at the weekend, whether they
need washing or not.
So last night
brought his clean trousers out of the ironing pile to have the crotch stitched
(again!!) and requested they be ironed.
However as the other pair are on top of the
laundry basket looking very clean, and his plan today is to go trainspotting in
ClaraVale, he may as well wear those and get them hacky.
He's just come into the office and asked whether I've
ironed his trousers.
"No, wear the others, it's pointless getting
the clean ones dirty."
Big sigh and "How did you get so lazy?"
"Practice."
He's just come in again looking martyred wearing a red pair with braces which he claims to hate.
Mrs Poet This is pure Chekov! I salute you.
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