Ladies and gentleman, I offer you proof that it is your washing machine (aka cheese grater) that should be held responsible for your laundry mishaps.
I mean, I suppose it's still wearable, if you're going for the "I belong to a toddler gang" look.
Oh, my. I felt badly for the repair man who had to service our Cabrio. For the record, this wasn't the only thing our washer had eaten in the last 4 months. Granted, it was the only casualty (figures, right?), but several other of Seth's things, a couple pair of my underwear, and a (get this!) matched pair of Jim's dress socks were also recovered on Tuesday.
I'm now erring way on the side of caution in how full I load the washing machine, and speaking in soft, soothing tones when I power 'er up. We'll see if that keeps her happy.