Well, THAT explains this underwear.
And, no, I ain't sayin' any more.
The Laundry.
“I arrived back to my place to after the party.
Mounds of the usual laundry greeted me, and my antediluvian headache.
Socks, shirts, briefs, pants, a jacket that I never wear, and a sequined thong.
I stopped to consider the thong.
The alien object sitting there, glittering a taunt at me.
“You don’t wear these, so why am I here?!” it jabbered.
“I have no idea, but in with the rest of the clothes you go.” I said, as I hideously mixed lights with darks, gentle knits with permanent press.
My work of evil complete, I sat on my davenport and listened to the pained screech of the laundry convulse in its death throes.”
And I never fixed the typos in it either.