I'm referring to my Loving Husband. He's evil. Truly.
Okay, you have to understand that the only thing I hate worse than unloading a dishwasher is putting away my clothes. (Well, and doing my taxes.) So I've had four piles of clean clothes in baskets next to my bed for oh, um, a while.
Tomorrow, we're going to The City (come on, I'm originally from Brooklyn; there's only one City in the whole world) to visit relatives. So we need to pack. And based on what's in my drawer, I'm out of socks. I know the Tax Deductions need to have their pants washed, so I pull together a load of laundry -- mostly kid stuff, plus two days' worth of socks for me. Loving Husband brings down the pile of clothing and loads the washer. (Isn't he wonderful? He does dishes, too. But he doesn't do Windows.)
An hour later, I go downstairs to load the drier. And don't you know, LH had taken my socks out to put them in the whites pile. The Dirty Whites Pile. So my socks? Not clean. And it's too late to run another load, because no way will I be up at midnight to get stuff out of the drier. (And never mind that my clock right now says 12:02 am.)
Moping, I go upstairs to see if I can scare up a pair of socks (or two) for the weekend. And I see the four piles of clothing. With a heavy sigh, I go through everything -- holy crap, THAT'S where all my sweatshirts were hiding -- and put EVERYTHING away.
Of course, I now have tons of socks. Clean socks. In my sock drawer.
So I'm convinced my Loving Husband didn't put the socks in the wash ON PURPOSE. He wanted me to put my clothes away.
One of these years, he'll be my Cabin Boy proper. And then HE'LL put my stuff away, dammit...