Yesterday I asked my super, Stefan, to come fix my bathtub because it wasn’t draining well. When I got home from work, I found that he had replaced my bathtub drain. I also found a pair of my panties covered in dirt and soaking wet and sitting in the middle of my bathroom sink. This was not just any pair of panties, mind you. This was a pair that I never wear because I don’t like them (a relic from my ill-considered foray into the “boy briefs” trend), meaning that they always just sit in the back of my dresser drawer. Meaning that he had to have rifled through the drawer in order to reach said panties. How to proceed? I don’t even know how to broach this conversation.
“Hey Stefan! So after you fixed my bathtub the other day, did you, like, paw through my underwear drawer and extract a pair of my panties and use them to clean up the mess?”
Instead, I called one of my gays to complain.
Me: “My super used my panties to clean my bathtub drain. Who does that?"
Gay Friend: “Maybe he thought that they were a dish cloth?”
Me: “They clearly say Calvin Klein on them. Calvin doesn’t make dish cloths.”
Gay Friend: “And who would use Calvin Klein towels to clean a bathtub drain anyway? He must be straight.”