"Well," says I to my audience of two cats and a beagle, "it's gotta be somewhere..." I check behind the chair, in the corners, under the bed, on the ceiling fan...nuthin'. I recall some definite flinging at one point in the evening, but usually the flinging lands somewhere visible. Hmmm. Unfortunately given my prediliction for black thongs, there's just not that much material to spot. "Well, bugger."
The cats are unimpressed. The beagle roots around in the blankets, either trying to help or in hopes that I will go back to bed and provide him with a nap buddy for another hour. Still no luck.
Oh, well. Guess I'm going commando until I get home. At least it wasn't the bra.
Some hours later, I call Kevin on an unrelated manner, and he says "By the way...did you notice you were missing something this morning?"
"Yes! My underwear's gone!"
"Yeah. It landed in my laptop bag."
"On top of my power supply."
"I was unpacking my laptop at a meeting and--"
"OH DEAR LORD."
Occasionally I feel like I should warn Kevin that my life is a demented experience, and by sharing it, he is cutting himself in for a vast quantity of absurdity, potential embarrassment, and Defective Wildlife. But then I come to my senses.