The problem with having a household of three people roughly the same size, one of whom has a tendency to wear men's clothes like her dad but the same size and style underwear as her mom, is that you run the very real possibility of losing your clothes forever. Every time I get undressed for bed and put my clothes into the hamper, I take a moment and wish them a fond farewell, because Lord knows when I may see them again. To wit: my new capri-length running tights. We assumed at first that my dad had done that load, looked at them, decided that capri-length on me equals ankle-length on mom, and put them in her pile when folding. This seems not to be the case, because mom and I just ransacked her entire drawer of gym clothes.
This leaves an even more horrifying possibility. The one that says he looked at the girth of the ass on these tights and realized they must be his. Of course, I'm not sure what that says about his anatomy, that he's able to look at the front and go, "Yeah, okay, I could fit my parts in there, no problem." And I'm not about to ask.
We also have a sock auction around the kitchen table once a week: "So I got this pair of sort of green ragg wool socks which I really like, but they're not technically mine, does anybody belong to these?" "Oh, yeah, those are mine. Are these your black dress socks? Because I already have two pair, so these can't be mine."
Fortunately there is not this issue with bras. You can totally tell those apart. My mom's are the cool ones, fun ones, and pretty ones, and mine are the ones that are designed by the Army Corps of Engineers.