I just noticed three quarters of the way through the work day that I had my thong on inside out.
This happens more often than I’d like to admit. You would think I’d be more adept at putting on underwear in the dark after all my years of practice, but at the age of 32 I’m fairly sure I actually manage to screw it up more than I ever did as a child. Maybe not. Maybe I was just better at not noticing that my underwear was inside out when I was a kid.
Maybe it’s also a testament to how exhausted I am lately that I briefly considered just leaving it on as is.
But I knew it would haunt me all day if I did.
Plus it’s not like I had this undergarment epiphany on the bus or something. This wasn’t a Mr. Bean at the beach situation. No, I was in the goddamn ladies’ room, a place specifically designed to grant you the privacy in which to be naked from the waist down. HOW LAZY ARE YOU, NUTTY?
So I sighed and began taking off my shoes. Of course I would be wearing the absolute worst clothing for a hasty panty inversion: black skinny jeans and lace-up boots. God forbid I screw up basic lingerie protocol on a day when I’m in easily removable cargo pants and flats.
The skinny jeans, being skinny, took some tugging to get off, so I had a real good long time to stare at my own crotch. And suddenly, a terrible thought hit me.
Is this…is this even my underwear?
I realized I had no recollection of ever buying these panties.
My brain, searching for a logical explanation, went into checklist mode.
Are they your size? Yes, they fit perfectly. That means almost nothing. Do you have any idea how many people wear size Medium underwear?
Is there a tag? No, the tag’s been cut out, which is admittedly something I do with all my skivvies, because I’ve never found washing instructions poking out of lacy knickers to be terribly alluring. So that might potentially be a point in the “I am not a panty purloiner” column. But without the tag, I have no way to check if it’s even my brand. Besides, I can’t be the only one who de-tags all their underthings. I think we can all agree that the human buttcrack is a place where “do not iron” advice just isn’t necessary.
What about the lace trim? Is it the same lace as you have on your other underwear? Let’s see, off the top of my head, I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA. I’m not a tatting expert. Sorry if I didn’t think to carry a spare pair in case I needed it for a goddamn forensic comparison.
So what we have here is just a plain red thong with no tag and unidentifiable lace that that may or may not have been somehow filched by accident last time you did laundry. Looks that way. It wouldn’t be the first time someone else’s stuff has mysteriously gotten into our dryer. Just the first time I didn’t notice before I actually wore one of the things.
Well, fuck. Yep.
Maybe they are yours and you’re just going senile. Also possible.
I hate to ask, but is this mystery underwear at least clean? Blissfully spotless. Like new.
So. Uhhh…*ahem*…finders keepers then? I want to be grossed out by that, but I’ve already been wearing these all day so it’s a little late. Yeah, why the fuck not. Congratulations, self, on the unexpected acquisition of a new red thong. Or your rediscovery of an old one you forgot you had. Either way, clean, comfy underwear, woo!
Awesome! Let’s never speak of this again. Huh? Oh, yeah, of course…
Let me just quickly tell the whole internet about it first.