After posting about my daughter's red lace thong panties, I received a couple of follow-ups to the story; i.e. other versions (from males, actually).  Like this one: The Case of the Red Lace Thongy Boxer Shorts
 
Catastrophe  blew through our house yesterday: my wife busted in on me while I dallied in the front hall closet, only to find me wearing her red lace thong boxer shorts (control top).  First of all, excuuuuuuuuse me!  It was a mistake, for God's sake!  In my haste to get dressed, I grabbed them and thought they were, well...the bathing suit I use while in Europe...in the French Riviera, to be exact.  It's not easy to stand out among all those....banana hammock wearers, so I bought a red boxer style suit to elongate my rather stumpy...er...torso, yeah that's what I meant to elongate, my torso.
 
So, I guess I didn't notice that this particular pair were...lacy...yeah, lacy....with tatwork reminiscent of 19th century Irish maidens toiling in the oppressive sexual tension of a Catholic country whose mores....ah I digress.  Anyway, my wife didn't have to react so outageously!  Well, maybe it wasn't just the panties snafu that got her so upset, but what's the harm of using one of her bras and a pair of pantyhose or two to finish the look of the red...well...so what!  It was a missssssssstake already!
 
A couple hours later, after we returned from "A Course On How To Shop At Wal-Mart" and our usual sojourn to the local Wal-Mart, where we smiled at each other and everyone in the store, since we know they can't smile back without teeth, she fell back into the same funk in which she left our home.  She gets all....poopy...again, just because I had slipped into a pair of her Crocs to wear on our outing, pointing out that international orange footwear plastered with purple trolls is unsuitable for me.  I guess one color or the other must clash with my greenish/brownish (or as my wife calls them, my babypoop colored peepers) eyes.  
 
So, I washed her damn panties in 20 Mule Team Borax, which has such a sweet, pleasant smell, now that it no longer has the odor of a pack of wet donkeys, and I returned the undergarments, all of them, along with the footwear, the latter of which might have been the catalyst for her last tantrum, probably because the dryer had melten the shoes into two wads closely resembling orange bubble gum...but still!  So, unlike Island Girl, I decide to take all the articles back and toss them out the window.  Serves her right for being so nasty.