Laundry days for this Scottie Mom consist of about five or six piles of sorted clothes which one by one get their turn for a spin in the machine. About a quarter of what gets washed makes it to the dryer. The rest is hung around the apartment to dry (in an effort to be more “green”). When laundry days come around this Scottie Mom household, you may find two nosy little Scotties poking their heads around the corner to see what’s happening and sometimes, you’ll even see them climbing on top of the piles that haven’t been washed yet to rest.
Of course, I know what you’re thinking because it is probably exactly the same as what I think everytime I see it: awwww! However, as with any mischievous Scottie, there is always a catch. I knew something was up when I had to start washing certain personal items of clothing more often, as there simply didn’t seem to be enough of them to get me through a week or so anymore – which, given my love for Victoria’s Secret, seemed impossible. It wasn’t until one of my favorite, new pairs went missing that I realized something really wasn’t right. Surely, I would not have gotten rid of something I had just bought.
Then, it dawned on me: previously, when I had gone to shower and left the bathroom door open, I found the pajamas I had left on the floor moved around and scattered as far as down the hallway. Could this be the work of one of the Scotties? And if so, why this one article of clothing and not a tank top, a sweatshirt or even jeans? So, I began searching around the apartment for clues. I found a sock in under the couch but other than that, I did not find anything else. What did my Scotties do with all the panties?
Well, as it turned out, a few had been ripped to shreds, a few had teeth marks but had made it through the Scottie teeth test (thus far) and the rest were stashed in a pile under the hooman bed – this happened when Scottie Mom lived alone. It was as if this mysterious panty snatcher kept a reserve at his or her disposal in case the current ones were completely destroyed and therefore, suddenly useless to his or her entertainment. And how did I come to realize just who the panty snatcher was, you ask? It was another laundry day in the Scottie Mom household and I was sitting on top of the hooman bed reading a book when I heard a soft, “chomp, chomp, choming” coming from under the bed. I got up, lifted up the bed skirt and who did I see? Mr. K having a blast and, having been caught, gave me a look that said, “I swear – it wasn’t me!”