Money laundering

I’m pretty diligent about checking the pockets of jeans as I do laundry. If you wash a cell phone, a Sharpie or a crayon (and bonus dunce points if you also dry the crayon), you pretty much figure out it’s easier to check pockets than to try and remove the resulting stains or replace an expensive cell phone.

And some times it pays. Literally. If I find money—it’s mine—unless it’s a lot and then I’m likely to feel too guilty to keep it. Although I may keep half as a finder’s fee. (Jacob: That five dollar bill I gave you last week--there were two. I kept one and you didn't even notice.)

Last night as I was checking pockets, I stuck my hands into the tiny pockets of my daughter’s jeans. Her first pair. I finally bought her a pair since, at the age of five, she can probably wear them without looking like a boy. I didn’t realize she knew to stuff her pockets with things and was surprised to find money in her back pocket. Play money, but money still the same. I guess I won’t be surprised to find a Barbie cell phone in the pocket the next time I wash her jeans. And, if for some reason, I forget to check, I doubt those pink plastic phones are too expensive to replace.