The past three nights running, I have come home with the firm intention of doing laundry, because I know I'm running out of underwear. Each time (including tonight), one of my housemates has been using the machines. That's absolutely not a big deal, but it bears mentioning that I am now down to what I'm going to have to call the "second-string" underwear, the boxers that are a little short and raggedy and in general not as good-feeling as my "main" boxers for some odd reason. But you know what? Life could be a whole lot worse, too.