"Panties? To work? You've got to be kidding. What will they say when they find out?
"Uh, Belinda, Dear, do you normally drop your pants on a regular basis in your office? Or do people rip them down when you don't expect it? Maybe you have some hot stud there that you are making out with? Unless you show them, how are they going to know?"
"I... uh... they... Hmmm. I guess you are right. Unless I show them, how would they know.?"
"See? If you run short, we'll just have to get you more..."
She dug in and tossed a number of my T-shirts, the ones with images on them that smacked of anything masculine. "We'll have to get you some nice, soft camisoles to replace these T-shirts, or some T's in lovely nylon or satin. You'll like them, I know."
With such logic and offers, how could I refuse. After all, I had thought of doing just what she was now proposing, but had never really gotten the courage to do it. Ms Courage, next to me, in the process of junking my men's underwear, was giving me the courage, gratis. Yet there was a reluctance and a resistance. I almost wanted to put the bag where I could get it, but when she was done, she took it out into the kitchen. There she cleaned the plates, pots and pans, dumping the excess garbage where? Into the bag with my underwear in it, or should I say ex-underwear. It was no longer wearable now, not without washing and I don't think she was planning on doing any laundry.