"Can you get your laundry off the lines in the basement so I can hang up my clothes?"
You're going down there anyway, why don't you bring it up?
"I don't know if it's all yours."
I go downstairs later. The load of laundry in question is a load of "lights" red, pink, and white, fitted collared shirts, underwear, socks and a couple of tank tops I use as undershirts. Literally the most feminine load of laundry in the house.
I can understand being unfamiliar with my wardrobe after ten years, but there's no way those clothes could possibly be confused with anything my brother might wear.
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