The Case of the Mysterious Underpants

A couple of days ago, Alison was doing her laundry, and discovered that a manky pair of jocks had gotten tangled up with her own clothes. Understandably grossed out, she assumed they belonged to Stuart (the only man-type person who’s ever around our house long enough to take his undies off), and delicately placed them on the clothes horse in the lounge room.

Deirdre pointed them out to me last night, and that’s where the whole mystery started. They are patently not Stuart’s underpants. Quite apart from the fact that they’re the wrong style, size and colour, I would have have seen them before if they were Stu’s. And I can honestly state that I have never seen these underpants before in my life. A quick housemate poll revealed that no one had ever seen them before, nor did anyone have any clue about where they might have come from.

We’re all a little creeped out, which I think is understandable. Apart from Stu, there are no regular male guests at Castle Anthrax, and certainly none who leave their revolting, stretched, ugly-patterned and generally skanky-looking undergarments around. The last guy who lived here moved out about six months ago, and I don’t want to think about his underpants at all in any way (crap, now I’m doing just that). This case begs many questions: how did the underpants get in our laundry? Whose are they? How long have they been skulking around, waiting to be discovered? And do we really want the answers to these questions, anyway?

UPDATE (26/04): The Jocks of Mystery and Suspense (well not really, I just thought the ‘suspense’ bit sounded good) are still in the lounge room. Alison, in a moment of interior decoration fervour, has pinned them to the large screen which rests against one of the walls. They serve as an eternal reminder of creepiness, and shall do so until someone gets over their heebie-jeebies enough to take them down, or possibly until the cat dive-bombs them and knocks them to the floor.
Alison and I decided that they have been spat back into this universe from the one where all the socks go, and that they must have spent a fair bit of time there, considering we’ve had this washing machine for some months now. This would mean that they belong to someone who owned the machine before us, most likely a member of Titian’s extended family I think. As yet, there are no plans to reunite them with their owner.
Thank you all for your concern.

15 Responses to “The Case of the Mysterious Underpants”

  1. pixelkitty Says:

    That’s pretty gross. And freaky.

    Maybe some creepy stalker type snuck into your laundry room and stashed them in the washer …

    or maybe they have been trapped in your washing machine for eons, and have only just recently escaped?

  2. Aimee Says:

    The stalker option was the first thing that crossed our minds, PK.

    The idea of them getting trapped is an interesting one. Our washer is pretty new, by which I mean it’s really old but has only been in our possession for a couple of months. Maybe the undies belong to the previous owner?

  3. Sarah Says:

    The same thing happened to my husband when he was sharing a house with two other guys. There was mystery pair of particularly gross underpants that showed up in the kitchen of all places. Nobody had any idea where they came from or who they belonged to. The only explanation is a ‘Donnie Darko’ like time travel vortex that drops random pairs of underpants in unsuspecting households – and then sucks up that other sock…

  4. gypped Says:

    my suggestion: SOME one in your house has secretly been sleeping with someone, and it’s time to find out who, and give them instruction on choosing bedpartners that have undie-fashion sense.

  5. Aimee Says:

    I honestly think the vortex is more likely than the secret sex (sorry, Gyppy), just because our house has thin walls. If someone was, uh, entertaining a guest, we’d probably know about it.

  6. momo Says:

    Aaah, the mysterious underpants! A few years ago, we had this pair of small paisley jocks appear in our washbasket. It was really really weird. T-bone thought I was having an affair. I was affronted. Mostly by the fact he’d think I was having an affair with a diminuitive fellow who wore paisley jocks. So then I can accuse him.

    It was really, really, REALLY weird. My cat likes to steal underwear from guests, so I’m thinking maybe they belonged someone who stayed at our house once, the cat buried them there, and then dug them out.

  7. momo Says:

    I think I meant ‘so then I accused him’. Anyway, I did, and he was affronted too! It was all quite the affront.

  8. Scott Says:

    Ahem.

    Please return my underwear immediately and I will not press charges.

  9. craig Says:

    I’m assuming you don’t have a communal laundry room… that would be the easy answer. Maybe someone came over and used your washer (roommate’s sister, friend, brother) and unintentionally left a present?

  10. Rae Says:

    Makes me wonder, were you grossed out enough to re-wash the rest of the stuff?

  11. Aimee Says:

    I have no idea if Alison washed her stuff again, Rae. I didn’t ask.
    Craig, you’re right, it’s not a communal laundry, it’s only used by the residents of our house. I don’t think anyone’s been “borrowing” it, either. It would help if we could pinpoint when and where the undies became tangled up with Alison’s stuff, but we can’t. The mystery remains! Unless you take Scott’s comment seriously, and ignore the fact that he’s always claimed t be a Calvins boy, as opposed to a Dimmey’s pack-of-seven-for-a-dollar boy. Dirty Canadian.

  12. adam ford Says:

    so has stuart categorically denied that they’re his underpants?

  13. Stu Says:

    Adam, I categorically deny that they are my underpants.

  14. Scott Says:

    Aimee, posting replies in your own guestbook is the journalling equivalent of the busdriver running to the back of the bus to break up the horseplay. Meanwhile, we’re careening over the cliffs of Mount You-Never-Fucking-Update!

  15. adam ford Says:

    okay, then. them’s officially mysterious undies.