Way back in 2013, She took a job in Las Vegas. Two years later, the contract has ended, and She is packing …
She: “Aw, c’mon, this is exhausting! Am I ever going to get to the bottom of this closet?”
He: “Hm?”
She: “I’m giving away or tossing out tons of clothes, and it seems like I’ve got just as many as I had before! How does this happen?!”
He: “Sigh. You have to keep your clothes separated, love. Otherwise, you know … close proximity … dark room … didn’t they warn you?”
She: “Warn me? Of what?!?”
He: “C’mon. At your age, you’ve never heard of … baby clothes?”
She: “Pft!! Not possible. They’re all female!”
He: “Yeah? What about this guy’s shirt that you bought for me, and then you forgot about it and left it in here? It only takes one, you know.”
She: “That was shirty of it.”
He: “And, of course, it had to be a beach shirt.”
She: “Doesn’t look like …”
He (singing): “Two blouses for every shirt …”
She: “Argh! Well, I didn’t get any warnings. You know shirt education is a forbidden subject, and they probably worried that I’d forget myself and start talking about the secret doing of my clothes closet in class.”
He: “I dig. This is America, and ignorance is blitz. You do know now, and I know you’re tired and this seems to be taking forever, but please do be mindful of how you pack up those clothes you are keeping.”
She: “Right. We don’t want any of those boxes exploding on the movers.”
He: “Yeah. Ew.”