“Diana, I think your sweaters are dry now.”
“What sweaters?”
“The ones I’ve been laying flat to dry for the past three weeks in our bedroom.”
“Oh, I didn’t see them.”
“You didn’t see them.”
“You didn’t see the ten sweaters in our bedroom.”
“You didn’t notice our bedroom floor looked like some sort of weird, cable-knit crime scene.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“You didn’t notice that each week they got closer and closer to the bed and that at least three of them have your footprints all over them.”
“Darling, the room is dark when I get up, and you’re always in bed before me, so it’s dark when I go to bed. Why do you dry them in our bedroom? Why don’t you dry them in the brown room?”
“There are six more in the brown room.”
“Ooh, is my red and purple sweater in there?”
“Yes. It’s dry too.”
“Good, I’ve been looking for that one.”
“Not very hard, apparently.”

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