Pants!

I suspect that anyone coming here to be appalled by the foul deeds of a man and his dog, or perhaps tales of dysfunctional housework must have been a tad miffed over the past couple of weeks. I am not sure what’s going on here on Hallett’s Mountain. And if I am not sure then what hope have you dear reader. I am always anxious to steer away from the fluffy kitten blog of course. I choose not to stray into other more worldly areas as well, as noted from time to time. I can only say that I have had my mind on womens underwear.
Mothers of small children, fear not. While I shall set googletraps in this post, I won’t cross the line. ……just don’t follow the links….
On the weekend I found myself faced with a dilemma that I was unable to refer to Miss Manners.
My guests, the honeymooners, had left, and I decided to spruce the old place up ready for the summer. I have to say that they left it shiny as a new pin. Spotless. And they cooked a very nice loaf of bread and left it in the kitchen where me and The Boy buttered it for breakfast. So. Before going out to mow the grass, a source of unfathomable male pleasure, I just stuck my nose in the other rooms.
The Tegan (I fear I am doomed to call her such, as I did it the first time by mistake and I am too embarrassed to admit another editorial mistake) was visited by her sister while on the mountain. The whole brood stayed up here for one night, so I thought it best just to see that they hadn’t left anything.
Staring at me from the right hand side of the spare bed, was an item of intimate feminine apparel. Laundered, I hasten to add, and folded in a manner that suggests that the owner was distracted, perhaps by a small child,just before putting them back in a travelling bag.
I was going to post them back through the door of the presumed owner when I paused for thought. There are several possible misinterpretations of such an action, and none of them really lead to a good outcome. Even leaving a note could overly complicate the situation, and besides what on earth could I write. Plus they might have been there for longer. Left by an earlier guest and overlooked by my pathetic attempts at tidiness. I don’t stray in to that room very often and the retrieval and folding could have been a polite gesture intended to prevent me embarrassing another soul sometime in the future. Or they could have been left there by The Boy… or one of his mates… circumstances that wouldn’t bear close scrutiny. The more I contemplated the lace trimmed little beggars, the worse it got.
Hallett’s Mountain is aware that there are internet sites on which second hand underwear sells well, but I have always felt a little uneasy about repeat visits. Besides which these were, clean.
I stuffed them in my pocket and continued my sweep, eager for something that I could perhaps sell on ebay.
A Couple of days later I was out walking the dog. While paused to exchange doggy pleasantry with the woman from the wine shop and her mate from the other side of the river, I noticed that Asbo was grunting and straining over the council flower bed. Delving deep into my pocket for a plastic bag I …… you’ve got there before me haven’t you…. Lest just say that I think we may be walking towards the Marina for a week or two until I know for certain whether the CCTV cameras were on.

I guess it could have been worse. Imagine if She Of The Townhouse had found them. Innocent explanation aside I shall be a lot more careful if faced with a similar situation in the future.

And ladies, please, try and remember where you left 'em.