I’m very disturbed due to the whereabouts of a beige, lacy thong last seen in my bathroom sink. I came home from work, pooped, but like a good Catholic girl (though lapsed), rinsed them out in Ivory and put them somewhere to dry.
At least, I thought that’s what happened.
I’d like to say they were left in someone’s bed as a memento, but unless I fooled around with the bus driver and can’t remember, it’s not the case.
My friend Ed tells me it’s geezerhood, and to just accept it when you find your wallet in the fridge and shoes in the tub. It’s just part of getting older.
Okay, but what do you call an outright disappearance? Or whom do you call…911 for assistance? Hello, could you please send an ambulance for what’s left of my fucking mind?
They’ve been at large for 72 hours. Isn’t that long enough to be considered legally missing? I’ve looked everywhere…they’re gone.
They didn’t just walk out by themselves, and unless I truly have early dementia, no one has been here to steal nor borrow their silky fit.
Did I throw them out in my exhausted haze? I even made sure I wasn’t still wearing them, like when you’re looking for your glasses and they’re sitting on top of your head.
They were Calvins and fit like a thong should…snug but roomy, soft yet sturdy enough to see you through the day. Think of sensible shoes, but made by Manolo.
Maybe it’s at the police station eating an ice-cream cone.
If you happen to see it, perhaps on a milk carton, it’s an extra small with a tiny pink rose on the front.
I’m offering a reward…the bra that goes with it.