Mood Indigo (or purple, or red, or...)

Mr. Nice Guy lives in an expensive high rise full of old people and middle eastern kids. Laundry facilities are in the basement, and there are security cams everywhere and lots of comings and goings, so I never imagined this happening; Someone dug through the dryer, MY dryer, plucked out all my pretty panties from amongst the dishtowels and bluejeans, and spirited them away. 

I have two questions: 

• How did they know I had fabulous underwear to begin with? Do I look like the type? Maybe that’s a good thing? 
• What is an old lady or 20-something boy from Dubai doing with them?! Ew, Im not sure I want to picture either scenario.

Once I was over the shock and grief, I turned my attention to getting replacements. My favorite pair was a blue number with white banding, and since I hadn't bought them, I always wondered where they came from,  so they had added mystique. They were American Apparel, and as I pondered their parentage, I suddenly remembered there was a store fairy close to my house. Pouting about the expense of a new undergarment wardrobe, I threw on some jeans—with no underwear of course—and swung on over to the AA store.  

A cute, young, obviously gay boy announced to me that he would be my service agent. My imagination went wild. My service agent? Oh really? And to what do I owe this honor? Is it because I have no underwear on? I snapped out of my fantasy and explained my situation. I wanted blue undies with binding. My personal little vixen, er service agent, sauntered towards the back of the store, and as I followed I noticed that despite working in a store surrounded by underwear, he wasn’t wearing any either. 

When I finally looked up, we were standing in front of a whole wall full of the exact underwear I wanted, in every color of the rainbow, each one glowing and pristine in a perfect little see-through pouch. I suddenly had an epiphany that would change my thinking about underwear for the rest of my life: I WILL NOW HAVE MOOD PANTIES!—Like mood rings—red for feisty, blue for serene, purple for cocky, green for money, pink for—well you know—and so on. As I stand there nekkid each morning, I can decide what color reflects my mood and have the panties to match. 

Sensing my needs, my service agent handed me a basket and I piled it high. He asked if I wanted to try them on—sound of car crash—Excuse me? Isn’t that against the law? I guess not in a store with a service boy…. Nonetheless, I declined. He seemed disappointed, and sulked while he rang me up, but I just dashed home with my entire spectrum of undies, eager to figure out which mood I would be in for dinner. 

Check out the rainbow of possibilities