Under where?

Most of my morning’s here start the same way: perplexed. From the grope for my alarm clock to the ache of sensory data while I shuffle down the floor bathroom, in that first half hour of awareness proved profoundly more difficult than the rest of the day. That feeling may have peaked this morning when I stumbled into my usual shower stall to find my underwear hanging from the curtain rod like mistletoe.

Not that this spot is so unusual; we’re all too demure here to really get into flagging our genitalia at each other so most of us prefer the option of dressing/undressing in the privacy to a shower stall. My underwear tends to find a home on the curtain rod next to my towel. After that though it tends to find a home on my body.

I can imagine two scenarios. I may have forgotten to put my underwear back on after I got done showering, which if true is awfully depressing. I’ve been putting on my underwear for twenty-five plus years now; I consider myself kind of an expert. I didn’t expect problems this late in the game. Also, at no point during the whole of yesterday did I realize I was going commando, a fact which one trip to the bathroom or well-placed itch should have revealed.

Option number two is that someone broke into my room, leaned over my wallet and my laptop to get into my laundry bag, fished free a pair of day old boxer shorts. Obviously he would have spent the day with them, likely wandering around campus with them draped over his arm, maybe splitting an ice cream cone or riding bicycles through the park. After a movie and a candle lit dinner and—just maybe—a kiss good night, he draped my underwear over my usual shower stall the way a movie serial killer leaves clues for his investigator.

Neither option really comforts me, but at least now I have a reason to learn the Korean word for deadbolt.