Never send a man to do a woman’s job.

So I’ve spent the past several many nights crashing at other people’s houses, which means two things:

1) I will inevitably forget to bring something
2) I will inevitably leave something behind

What I forgot was underwear. I’m not one of those people who is above wearing the same undies for a couple of days (nor am I one of those people who is religious about hairwashing), but by Friday things were a little out of control. So I asked Stephl’s fiance if, while he was at Target, he wouldn’t mind picking me up a fresh pair. Weird, I know, to ask somebody else’s significant other to buy me underwear, but I was desperate. “OK,” he replied, “but it’s going to have Hello Kitty or something on it.” I agreed gratefully, and he went on his way.

Now. While in North Dakota I had the opportunity to revamp my entire selection of intimates, replacing every old, weird-colored, worn-out pair of panties with stripped-down basic black boyshorts. I haven’t worn anything but black underwear for the last year, year and a half, at least. It’s a comforting thing to have a homogenous lingerie drawer, and I take pride in my matching set… perhaps more than one should. So tell me how weird it was to put on the green, polka-dotted bikini briefs I received upon Dano’s return. No, actually, let ME tell YOU.

It was so fucking weird.

SO weird.

Seriously, every time I took off my pants it was like looking at somebody else’s body. And this lasted for another two days, until I finally made it home to shower and change.

To round out our little post here, bringing everything back full circle, what I left behind Saturday morning was all my clothes. I fully blame the underwear.

One response to “Never send a man to do a woman’s job.”

  1. Hey, there's something to be said for a guy who will shamelessly buy underwear for any girl, let alone one with whom he is not enjoying intimacy. I felt the same way about my pink santa claus thong. 😉


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