A couple of days ago, I was helping a 60-year old lady that I know find a set of missing keys. Since this person had rummaged through all of her possessions that she had on her the last time that she had her keys, I was convinced that her keys were safe within the confines of her car. Because of this, I sent myself on a mission to root through her car until the missing keys were found.
I started by looking under both of her front seats, in cup holders, her glove compartment, under the visors and in the side compartments on her doors. Coming up short handed on each of those locations, I set my sights on her center console determined to find these elusive keys. Opening the console I find a pack of cigarettes, a couple CD cases, sunglasses and an array of other miscellaneous items. As I continue to dig towards the bottom, I grab a handful of items when I hear words that will haunt me for a very long time...
"Those are my underwear" - says the older woman in the car whose keys are lost.
Stunned while watching her motion towards the garments in my right hand, I say... "You mean...the ones in my hand?"
With a nod of her head, I try not to concentrate on the state of cleanliness that the pair of panties in my hand may be in, and I quickly drop the items back to where they were found, and walk briskly to the nearest hand sanitizer.
I have tried not to think too hard as to why a woman (of any age - but especially of older age) would keep a spare pair of underwear in her center console. Although my efforts are great to not think about it, when I falter, my reasoning for the extra set of underwear are frightening.
This is my life. No one else's. Because if it were someone else's...this shit wouldn't happen. Only to me!
