Panty raid!!!!!!!!

Something occurred chez Pottier that was of the most alarming nature. I’m not sure what to make of it. The other day my host sister approached me, dangling on her finger a pair of used-and-abused women’s underwear. She asked me if they belonged to me. Horrified that she thought I had such ill taste in underwear, I gave a determined, Noooooo. Continuing on, she then asked her mother—and considering the out-dated style of the underwear, well it made sense to me. However that wasn’t the case. KC dismissed them at first sight; she said she had a pair similar to them in the eighth grade from Old Navy and feared for a second that they had come back to haunt her, HA! So, using scientific deduction, I concluded that if the underwear did not belong to any of the women living in the house in which they were found then… Perhaps… Someone had a female guest over! Scandalous. But who would bring home the kind of girl who then leaves her underwear lying around where Mother Mary statues could see them, judge them?! Yes, I’m afraid that I have to again impose all judgment on the 32 year-old son. He’s too much of an anomaly to suppose anyone else in the house holds responsibility! But could it be that the adult son, who if one ignores his physical appearance could mistake him for an infant child, is popular with the ladies??? A disturbing thought indeed.

Following the emergence of this upsetting possibility, I found myself alone in the kitchen with him for a brief but altering minute. He was standing behind me, silently waiting for me to move. Rather than verbalize like an adult, he chose to stare at me with such severity that I could feel his numbing glare. I turned around, jolting him back into reality a little too soon. I guess he couldn’t grab his voice in time because in response he whispered in an incredibly unbefitting Fabio-esque voice: Paaarrrdon. Realizing his secured merit of embarrassment, he scurried past me quickly enough to miss my judgment-inflicted reaction. My head jerked down as if the awkwardness had hit me on the top of my head; my eyebrows broke unison due to a range of emotion, one raised in shock, the other frowned in confusion; my mouth simultaneously dropped open and remained agape until I was ready to articulate myself, which required several seconds to let out a flailing: Whhhaaaat. Just. Happened?? Oh yes, this adult-child is awkward—far beyond my own degree of awkwardness. He’s on a whole ‘nothaaaa level! It’s just so comforting to know that there’s someone out there FAR more awkward than yourself. Yeahhhh…

I can sleep easy tonight.