A number of years ago, when The Boss and I were still dating but living together, we went to visit my parents. They had called us up the day before and invited us over for dinner, even offering to let us bring our laundry over if we had any to do. We, of course, jumped at the chance. Their offer was for two of the best, most awesome things for young couples: a free home-cooked meal, and free laundry.
Visiting home was always a whirlwind during those days, as there was always something going on and plenty to get caught up on. I usually got roped into doing some chores or helping my dad with some stuff around the house, but I didn't mind, especially considering the free laundry (I'd gladly sweep the floor or take out the trash if it meant I didn't have to sit at the sketchy laundromat in town). The Boss would sit and drink tea and chat with my mother, and on the day in question, I suppose we got a little caught up in visiting and forgot about our laundry.
When I finally remembered, I ran downstairs to the laundry room. My mother, quickly stepping into her role as the caretaker that she had missed since I had moved out for college two years prior, had long since switched over The Boss' laundry and started my laundry in the washer. By the time I made it downstairs, it appeared that she had even folded The Boss' laundry when it was done drying. My wash was almost done it's last spin cycle, and as I waited I sifted through The Boss' laundry to make sure everything was folded and not just the few things on top.
I lifted up her bath towel on top of the pile, and froze. What I saw made my blood run cold.
Sitting on top of a pair of neatly folded jeans was a pair of The Boss' underwear, but not just her regular underwear. They were her pair of zippered-crotch panties.
Wrap your mind around that for a moment. My ultra-conservative Christian mother, who told me directly that she didn't approve of The Boss and I living together before marriage because we'd be living in sin, folded a pair of my live-in girlfriend's zippered-crotch underwear.
I wanted to burst into flames from sheer embarrassment. I know they weren't my underwear (I suppose I would have had some explaining to do if that was the case), but of all the things I wanted to keep from my mother, the fact that my girlfriend sometimes wore zippered panties was definitely one of them.
Oh, man. Oh, shit.
I quickly buried the evidence under a few more layers of clothes and went back upstairs after putting my laundry in the dryer. My mother was standing in the kitchen, leaning up against the counter with her arms folded across her chest. One of her eyebrows was raised slightly, and I felt the chill of judgement raise the hairs on the back of my neck. My face became warm and flushed.
"Thanks for folding her laundry," I said after a moment of uncomfortable silence.
"No problem," she replied, her voice heavy with disappointment.
Just then, blessedly before the conversation could turn in any direction closer towards the scandalous underwear, The Boss emerged from the bathroom and joined us in the kitchen. She looked at me and smiled, and I smiled back. I thought to myself, you won't be smiling when I tell you about this on the ride home.
The Boss was, of course, mortified. It was a long time before she would come with me to visit my parents again. And thankfully, the topic has never come up for discussion with my parents. It has been a good memory to laugh about ever since, although I think it helps that she buried the underwear deep in her dresser in her attempts to distance herself from the embarrassment.
And no, she never wore them again.