The following is a true story. I WISH I were imaginative enough to create this bullshit. Alas, I'm just a caveman.
Part 1: The Purple G
About six weeks ago, I am doing some laundry. And if nothing else, the main thing I have learned from all of this is that I shouldn't be doing laundry. Maybe that is not a valuable lesson to learn, but I feel like I need to take something away from this since most of my dignity is gone.
It's true, that since I literally despise doing laundry, that most of the time I'm not paying attention, which is why when I found a purple g-string within my fresh-out-of-the-dryer clothes I was not completely surprised I hadn't noticed them. Not completely.
I picked up this purple g-string that was intermixed with my ratty, and hole-filled jockeys and boxers with a bit of amazement. I held it between my thumb and my index finger.
How I thought did these get in here?
At the time I found the purple g-string, I was in the midst of not only being celibate for six months, but also shunning all women completely. So these panties couldn't have been from some random, late-night hook up. Yet there they were. Dangling in my hands, like the arm of a grandfather clock tick-tocking back and forth as I held them, arm out stretched, by the very corner of one of the thin pieces of purple fabric. Sounds poetic.
AH HA!!! I love when I realize how smart I am, and I pat myself on the back and glow inside my own self-modesty. These have to be Brittany's.
Britt is my running partner and often showers at my place after we run. Amazingly, she manages to keep her hands off of me long enough to get through the entire process without jumping on me...but her mind was obviously distracted enough to forget some panties at my place. That silly girl.
For weeks and weeks and weeks, I kept reminding her that I had these panties and that she needed to get them the next time she was at my house. They were just sitting on the floor of my room for ALL to see two feet from the washer/dryer that is just outside my bedroom door. I thought about moving them so when my roommate does laundry he wouldn't see them. That would be embarrassing I thought. Eh...who cares.
Finally, after many times of forgetting, Brittany and I met up at my pad after a run. She was just going to drop by and take a quick shower. I thought it would be funny to leave the g-string on my bathroom door, and in the end, it did end up being humorous, in a way.
She walks in a few minutes after me, tired and sweaty.
Me: I have a surprise for you
Britt: Is it water?
Me: No...guess again.
Britt: Is it food? I'm starving.
Me: Nope. You'll know when you see it I'm so clever.
Britt: Oooooooooook. Wait. Are you finally going to give my underwear back?
Britt: Where are they.
Me: That's the surprise.
She looks around for a bit, but is really too tired to be bothered by my shenanigans. She starts to walk over to the bathroom and let's out a laugh and a squeal.
Me: Heheheheheheh Yes, Britt???? Leaving them on the bathroom door was so funny.
Britt: Did you look at these panties?
Me: No. Not really. Why?
And when Britt come back around the corner to where I am sitting, she is holding out the g-string, and all it's glory.
Britt: Do you think I could fit into these?
Britt is a very in shape girl. VERY fit. And when she unfolded the g-string I had been storing in my room for about six weeks...it appeared that these panties could have fit about three Brittanies...and oddly, the front part of the panties...were unusually large, especially for panties.
Britt: These aren't mine.
Mark: Well, they have to be yours. No one else has been over here...unless...
And for the first time in my life, I felt an urge to puke like I just drank a 12-pack of beer....without drinking the beer. In one of those rare moments in life where a spotlight from above came shining down on me; I literally had an epiphany.
Mark: OH MY GOD...OH MY GOD....OH MY GOD....
Mark: Those must be D's!!!
D- is my new roommate. He has been living with me for the past few months. He is a great guy. He's quiet. He keeps to himself. He's 52. And he weighs about 350 lbs.
Mark: I think I'm going to be sick.
Britt is just laughing. And laughing. And laughing some more. I don't know what to do..so I throw them back in the dryer...where I found them SIX WEEKS EARLIER. No...no...I can't do that. He'll know I had them. I can't let him know I had them. So Britt and I decide the best course of action is to just throw them away.
Darron convinced me to dig these out of the garbage, and post some pics. Here you go:
From The Back
The Glorious Front
I later learned these were called manties...and that there is a website. Sigh.
Part 2: Sleeping with the Barn Door Open. Literally.
It has been especially hot in my condo recently. Now in all my months of living with J- (My old roommate. Hot. 28. Great body.) not one time did she EVER sleep with her bedroom door open, which is right by the front door. You can totally see into this room when leaving the house. D-, on the other hand, ALWAYS sleeps with his door open.
D-, I have also found, always sleeps naked. It's hard to miss a 350 lb man sleeping naked (in his room) right next to the front door.
So last weekend, I have some friends in town and we go to Del Mar and Casino Barona. When we come back home, at about 3 AM, D's TV is on and blasting, and he is once again sleeping with his door open. And yes. He is naked. Now the sound of his TV doesnt bother me in my room all the way across the condo. I never hear him at all.
My friends, though, are trying to sleep in the living room. They can't sleep. His TV is too loud.
Someone needs to go close his door so that it is quieter. Someone needs to get within three feet of a naked, sleeping D-.
Yes. That someone was me.
But it gets worse.
Part 3: Parading
I'm sitting in my living room a couple of days ago waiting for a friend of mine to come over. I'm sitting on the couch, and D- is in the kitchen. There is a landing between the two of us, and all I can see is him from his waist up. We are chatting for about ten minutes while he is making his dinner. Normal stuff.
A few minutes before my friend arrives, I get up from my couch to check my email in my bedroom. When I stand up, I can see over the landing. I can see D's entire body. He is wearing his work shirt, and white jockeys. Yes. That's right. He is walking around in the kitchen in his shirt and tighty whities.
I gag as I walk into my room.
A few minutes later my friend calls and tells me she will be over in a minute. I walk into the kitchen, and say the twenty words I never imagined I would have to say to my 52-year-old roommate:
"D-, a friend of mine is coming over. Do you think you could, I don't know, put some pants on?"
"Oh....ok. I'll just hang out in my room."
Not the exact response I was looking for. "Dude...you don't need to hang out in your room. You just need to put some clothes on."
Please...PLEASE....PLEASE....I do not want a part four.