Well, I have a story for you guys. It’s a bit embarrassing. No really, it’s terribly mortifying. But I’m going to go ahead and put it on the internet anyway. Because I’m stupid brave like that. Plus, I want my imaginary friends to know about every aspect of my life.
Okay, it all started in early May when I moved out of my apartment that was located in my semi-close university town. Since I only have two days of classes next Fall, I decided to just commute. I was super excited because my apartment was really just a money-suck. I mean, I only stayed there three nights and had to pay almost $500 a month of rent. Total waste.
So… I’m packing, packing, packing. It’s finals week. I’m cramming information in, trying to memorize every Supreme Court case ever decided as I went along. I’m freaking out, because I never learned geology in the first place. Oh yeah, there was also the term paper from hell hanging over my shoulder. It was a pretty intense time and I remember feeling busy and distracted. Finally, I cram in a last-minute photoshoot and head home with a pick-up stuffed full of junk.
Luckily, my vehicle was quite as stuffed as it could have been. See, my apartment came fully furnished, so I didn’t have to supply a bed, dresser, or desk. At the end of the year, I wasn’t responsible for hauling a large amount of crappy furniture into storage. It sounds perfect right… Well, it ended up being my downfall.
Fast forward to last Saturday, when I was once again packing- but this time only for a short trip to the lake with my family and Colby. Well, I was grumpy and soon became even more aggravated when I couldn’t find my bathing suit from last summer. Here I am, digging through drawers and looking in duffel bags when I realize that I couldn’t remembering packing my apartment underwear drawer.
First off, don’t judge me. I have a lot of underwear and have just been assuming that a some of it was in the dirty clothes for the last three weeks. Remember, I had been moving back and force from my apartment all year-long. I had been living out of bags for almost nine months. My clothes situation wasn’t the most organized thing ever.
It was only when I started looking through my bras that I realized that about half of them were missing. And I couldn’t remember packing the top drawer of my dresser at school.
(I didn’t really know what kind of picture to post with such a mortifying blog, but decided on Cricket. I obviously can’t post pictures of my undies, because that would be just gross. Cricket is currently on my poop-list, because she’s letting the puppy chew on her. Really. I don’t make this stuff up.)
Apparently, I felt a full drawer of my socks, panties, and bras in my apartment at my university town three weeks ago. That thing was full too- with both the sexy stuff and granny panties. I’m mortified and keep imagining the most horrible things happening to my poor undergarments.
My lesson for you dear, imaginary internet buddies check everything before you move out. You really don’t want to leave a large amount of your unmentionables for a hairy, maintenance man to clean up.
And now I’m off, Victoria Secret is calling my name.