Someone is stealing squirrel covers.

I love hanging my laundry out. It saves electricity, it helps keep the house cooler in the summer and line-dried laundry smells fresh. Plus, there is nothing like slipping between crisp, sun-dried cotton sheets (the occasional bug notwithstanding). I had the husband install a six-liner two weeks after we moved in, and April to October, it sees weekly use.

I learned the art of hanging laundry properly from my grandmother. She was very particular -- six pins for sheets, four for towels, three for shirts -- which should always be hung from the bottom hem to avoid "Frankenstein shoulders." Placement of laundry on the line was also a consideration. in her own words:
"Never do a load of personals until you've first washed a load of sheets, towels or tablecloths! You need appropriate screening material!" (Throw a Mrs. Doubtfire-esque Scots brogue on that, and you'll have it about right.)

In her opinion, it was rude to hang your underwear out where your neighbors could see (and comment on) the state of the family's drawers. Thus, sheets or other large items went on the outside lines, and britches went on the inside lines, well-hidden. She'd have no more let the world see her underalls than she would have slapped the local Priest.

I tend to hang out my laundry in her proscribed method without even thinking about it, it's so ingrained. No one wants or needs to see my lucky rocketship underpants, or Husband's plaid boxers, or OctoBoy's superhero boxers, or SnarkGirl's Hello Kitty britches. I followed her sage advice as I hung out a couple of loads this morning, before running errands.

Except, as I was collecting laundry, I noticed that there were about a third fewer pairs to take in than I had hung out. All the missing pants were mine and SnarkGirl's The pins were still there, but the panties were gone. I foolishly checked the grass to see if they'd fallen or been blown across the yard. Nope -- but part of the vine on the back fence behind the shed was broken and crushed down.

Creeped the fuck out, I collected what was left and called the local constabulary to report the theft. They showed up, looked at the area, and mentioned that a couple of other houses had been hit in the last few weeks.

I'd be lying if I said that the thought of some perv doing whatever pervs do with stolen panties didn't turn my stomach -- particularly when you consider that  a good portion of those stolen step-ins were clearly little-girl undies with cartoon characters on them. Frankly, made me want to double-check the locks on the doors and windows, clean my guns,  take SnarkGirl out for some "Mommy and Me" range time and sign us both up for an extra couple of Krav Maga classes.

Yo, Strings -- and anyone else -- any other advice? Offers to break knees are appreciated and will be seriously entertained!