SH [as he is packing for a trip]: Where are my jean shorts?
Me: I don't know.
SH: I can't find them.
Me: I thought I washed them the other day and put them on your dresser.
SH: They're not here.
Me: I don't know.
SH: What did you do with them?
Me: I would have left them on your dresser.
SH: Did they get mixed in with your things?
Me: No. Did you put them back in the laundry?
SH: I'll go downstairs and check.
[Note. What I am not able to convey here is the sense of drama and urgency about recovering these shorts. Maybe I should be writing in ALL CAPS and using LOTS OF EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!!!!!!!!]
SH: They're not there!
Me: I don't know, sweetie. Why don't you just take your khaki shorts instead?
SH: Because I have to know what happened to the jeans shorts!
Me: Well, there has been a rash of robberies a few blocks over.
SH: Are you saying someone stole my shorts off the clothesline? And nothing else?
Me: It could happen. It happens in murder mysteries all the time.
SH: Maybe I left them at my mom and dad's last week.
Me: That's probably it.
SH: No. I bet they were stolen.
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