When they come for me, it will be because of the underwear in my fruit basket

I am neurotic.

I know that's probably not an earth shattering revelation to most of you. As much as I like to pretend I am 100% non-luniticy sometimes my neurosis creeps out beyond my control. Like how I'll never give a second thought to my family's finances but then spend hours laying awake in bed at night wondering how it is that no one tells Donald Trump how really and truly terrible his hair looks. I don't let the big problems of life get to me. I'm too busy sweating the small stuff.

A few months ago my friend's daughter spent the night at my house. After she had left in the morning I noticed that she had left a pair of her underwear in the bathroom. I thought nothing of it and threw it in the washing machine so I could wash it and return it the next time I saw my friend.

As I was folding the clean laundry a few days later (shut up) I came across the underwear again. I wasn't going to be seeing my friend for a week or so I decided to put the underwear somewhere where I wouldn't forget it. There was a small problem though. Where do you store underwear that belongs to someones child? Everywhere I thought of seemed ..... odd. The shelf by the front door? No, I didn't want them out on display. In the closet? I didn't want them to get buried in the avalanche of coats and shoes. In my dresser? That seemed weird on a lot of levels. Under my bed? That's the first place the police would look.

You see, at this point in the story I had lost it a little bit. I started thinking about how if the police ever came to my house for any reason they might decide to do a random search and then they would discover the underwear belonging to another persons kid and I would be arrested under the Things That Sort Of Make You Look Like A Predator Even Though You're Not law. So clearly the underwear had to be hidden.

I don't remember how I decided to hide the underwear where I did. I don't even remember doing it. In fact, once it was hidden I forgot where it was. I pretty much forgot about the underwear all together. For a really, really long time. Every so often when I would see my friend I would think "Oh yeah, I really need to give that underwear back." but then I would realize I didn't even remember where I had hidden it.

Cut to a few weeks ago when I was cleaning my house to get ready for a party. I was artfully arranging the fruit in my fruit basket and guess what I found. The underwear. In my fruit basket. No matter how normal you like to think that you are, you'll be forced to question that when you're standing in your kitchen asking "When did I put this Curious George underwear in the fruit basket?" Don't even ask yourself why you did it. The answer will only upset you.

Of course I couldn't leave the underwear there in the basket so I moved it to the top of my dresser so that I could promptly forget about it again. Now it sits there, mocking me. Every time I walk past it I think "I need to give that back!" and every time I see my friend I think "D'oh! I still have the underwear!"

I have to be honest. I think part of me is hanging onto the underwear on purpose. If I give it back I won't be able to obsess about it any more and I'll have to move on to more pressing things. Like the fact that I still have my friends gloves from last winter. And one of her daughter's Hannah Montana socks.

I have a problem.

One year ago today Joseph attempted a new facial expression.
Four years ago today Jesse didn't like my bean soup.