Where the Hell are my Jeans!!!

Kids are damned hard work.  I’m not overly fond of them. 

Hell, sometimes I’m not even fond of my own, let alone someone else’s...  So imagine how my anger levels escalated when I got to clean freak hell and see an ugly pair of “Colorado” jeans (high rise – and we are talking up to the nipples); with my belt on them!  I went through about 55 octaves of violence (internal).

Umm Okay.  Calm down and figure it out.  Where the hell are my Jag jeans? (medium rise)  They can’t be lost.  I checked the hideous laundry although knew they wouldn’t have been in the general mix.   The odd times I wash while in clean freak hell, I ensure I wash separately.  This was a proven protection valve the week before last when my clothes flapped on the line, glistening in the wind.  The squeeze and boy three’s clothes flicked back and forward, tossing remnants of the tissues left in one of their pockets…  Fools.

I kept a lid on my anger and waited to get home to check.  It wouldn’t be good to freak out and then discover I’ve left my belt there with some work pants and my jeans are actually neatly washed, ironed, folded in my wardrobe.

But no; I get home and pull the house apart – and my favourite jeans are gone!  Missing!  Taken!  Bastards!  I love those jeans…

I mention to the Squeeze that they didn’t turn up and whoever the boombah Colorado wearer was who dumped them but forgot to take my belt – had taken them!  And I wanted them back.

Finally, the son who no longer lives there turns up.  The Squeeze asks him about the jeans and bingo.  There we have it – the answer.  He had bought home some chick (with zip in the style department obviously) and humped her in the squeeze’s bedroom (I’m guessing that bit, but as daughter says – it’s soooo obvious). 

Come morning, Harry High Rise has slinked off to the bathroom with my jeans!  (Hell, given a choice, I’d have taken my jeans too!)

Okay, we have the answer – but no resolution!  He can’t remember her name…  (The youth of today!) And he will check at his place.  We all know that is an unlikely scenario, he wouldn’t have taken them to his house – I don’t even think he knows where his house is!!!

So I follow up (again) and tell the Squeeze that he needs to point out that I want them back; they are my favourites and I won’t be able to purchase the same pair…  Everyone knows what that one pair of jeans you love is like…  And how rare they are to find again!  And I send a suggestion that maybe he should tell son one that if he wants to bang bimbos – take them to his place.  Hell, I seriously don’t want to have to bring everything home all the time.

Unlike him and his coffee bag with one pair of jocks in it; I ‘woman’ pack.