When I was a senior in college, I spent a week one spring drunkenly staggering my way through events celebrating my friends who were required to wear these dresses and perform gumbi-like bows. On my drive back to school, I received the following voicemail from one of my 3 roommates (Names have been changed to protect the innocent)
Alice: C, we changed the locks on the door. Call when you get close and someone will meet you at the door. You may want to stop by Victoria's Secret on the way and stock up. Serious.
I got into town about an hour later and made plans to meet the roommates at the bar so they could explain. I thought maybe they had decided to vote me off the island during my absence. Thankfully, I was wrong. At the bar I hear the story.
On Sunday morning, two of my roommates headed out to Yogi's for our usual weekend breakfast around noon. (We always loved heading to the family friendly Yogi's dressed in pajamas, bed head, and last night's makeup. It made all of the church going families squirm when they brought their children in wearing their Sunday best. Bonus points if we brought whatever guy had stayed the night.) My other roommate was probably still sleeping at her boyfriend's house. In the hour or so while my friends were chowing down on migas and breakfast tacos, our apartment was violated.
Nothing of any *emotional* value was taken, only underwear. Which, all ladies understand, does have monetary value. Only thongs and sexy-pants. The thief left behind our combined 8 pairs of full-assed granny panties. If this wasn't disturbing enough, dude, we can only assume, took a duffel bag from my roommate's room, emptied the bag of its clothes, folded the clothes that previously occupied the duffel bag, and used the bag to carry off our lady part covers.
I could not stop laughing. For like 2 hours. My roommates? Not so happy about my blatant disregard for the trauma they experienced earlier in the day. My hysteria also might have had something to do with the reenacted scene of my roommate Mary crying on the floor in the fetal position over the cat which took the opportunity to escape the apartment through the broken sliding glass door. Can't say I blame him, he was the only male in a house of 4 moody women. He came back though. No worries.
The event did teach us all a valuable lesson. There is nothing shameful in investing in 2 sets of underwear. Thongs (which are required for ridding yourself of undue panty lines, and for sexy time) and full coverage underwear (for sleeping). Which is what I tell my husband every time he whines about my changing into "ugly" underwear before bed.
Like I could sleep in a thong. Shudder.
Besides, thongs hurt like hell anyway.