It's possible that I'm not as smart as I think I am.  Last
Saturday, I was getting ready for my weekly Costco run - I go
through 20 rolls of paper towels a week, and I love the $1.50
hot dogs.  Except (pat, pat) where's my wallet?  It's not
unusual (great song by Tom Jones) that I can't find my wallet.
It's usually in the back pocket of the pants I wore last night
and threw on the floor next to my bed. But nope, not there.
Where'd my pants go, anyway?  I checked the regular spots: on my
desk, in the bathroom, next to the TV, under the couch, under
the floor mat in my car … nope.  Hold on, I threw a load of
clothes in the washing machine. That's where my pants went.
Please don't let my wallet still be in the back pocket.  It
wasn't.  It probably fell out of my pants during the rinse
cycle.  Now my wallet was a scrunched-up hunk of wet, smelly
leather in the bottom of the washing machine. Everything that
was inside my wallet was plastered to the basin like the Roundup
ride at the Houston Livestock Show and Rod