I live in a tiny little frat house. The inhabitants generally walk around half clothed, there’s strange snacks left in corners that have become unrecognizeable and instead of beer bottles littering the pool table there’s abandoned sippy cups strewn about as if we had an all night juice kegger. Party, party, party. That’s us.
Which brings me to the panties. The panties hanging from the furniture and sitting in the bottom of cereal bowls. Not mine of course, these are little tiny pairs of panties, most of them sport one of the days of the week and some sort of cartoon character. You see, these itty bitty undergarments are the moosh’s new obsession. She carries them with her everywhere, laying them out in little piles to keep her company while she colors. They in no way have inspired her to quit messing her pants. They have only managed to drive me crazy.
The panties have been taken away for now. Until there is a giant leap forward in the pee in the potty area the panties will stay under drawer arrest.
But really, who am I kidding? Pee rarely ever hits the toilet in a frat house.