So here’s the deal: My husband and I enjoy some light pranking. This ramps up around birthdays, which I recently celebrated (thanks be to everyone who wished me well, BTW.) This is my story, and my request for assistance in obtaining RIGHTEOUS UNDERGARMENTAL JUSTICE.


So about two weeks ago I’m getting ready in the morning and pull out a pair of my day-to-day skivvies and slip them on. I wear cotton bikinis from Hanes or FOTL and always have. I buy the packs two at a time and throw out any strained or ripped undies without hesitation. There is enough turnover and they are so plenteous and so generic that I don’t even pay attention to what they look like as long as they’re pristine. Even right now- I couldn’t tell you what color or pattern they are. That’s just how I roll. (Just checked: They are plain white.)


Anyhow, I slip em on and they were, as Deadpool would say, TIGHT. Weird, but whatever, maybe I shrank them? Or I got a dud pair? Happens. I grab another pair out of the deck and also tight AF. What? Am I gaining weight? No! Can’t be. I pull on my work pants, commando, and they’re fine. Weird. I remove the pants and dig through the unfolded laundry, third times a charm. Good to go!

Over the next week this scenario repeats itself almost daily, but it’s the morning and I’m tired and rushed and am not connecting it all together... Till I start finding some of the underwear aren’t attempting to sever my legs off once they’re on- they are waaay too big. That’s what finally tips me off to the interloping intimates. I look at the stamp in the back and they are 1x.


I had to wait till I got home that day to pull them all out and check the sizes. After laying them all out on the bed I counted enough individual random sized garmies to make like six packs, ranging from small to 1x. Heavy on the smalls and larges. They have all been washed (points to husband for knowing my Vv strong feelings on washing before wearing and knowing I might be able to tell they were fresh out of the package, which I totally would have.)


After some rummaging I found the majority of my mediums squirreled away in a pillowcase in the linen closet behind the guest linens. He had, however, peppered the drawer and baskets with two dozen of my own underwear so I would eventually grab one that fit and be more confused (fucking brilliant. And yes, I have A LOT of cotton undies.)

I haven’t said anything yet, or removed the prank panties, and I haven’t moved the pillowcase. It’s killing me not to say anything, but I think it’s best if I hold off.

Initially and immediately I pondered getting one of my cop acquaintances that husband hasn’t met yet to come by because “I called them about someone breaking into the house and messing with our stuff”, but it’s too much, I think. Too unbelievable because I’m not the type to call the cops. I’m more of a Home Alone boobytrap the place kinda gal.

But he must pay. Handsomely.

But how?

Any ideas? Any at all! I have great insurance so I’ll entertain some ideas that could result in a light maiming. (Kidding. Or am I?)