No picture necessary

You know what I absolutely fucking love? I absolutely fucking love it when, in my post-three-day-weekend six-thirty-am oh-shit-i-have-to-leave-in-twenty-minutes morning rush I accidently leave my shirt and underpants in the bathroom on the scale, totally forgetting to take them with me after showering. I love it when the panties just lay there, flared open as dropped down the legs, atop the shirt, revealing everything a panty might reveal, for all of the nine rotating roommates to see and revel in. I give them extra cool points for not having the shame or decency to rustle the shirt from under the panties (no germs there!) to cover up a random woman's decency, if any there is, or to preserve her modesty, same clause applies. No, my favorite thing in the world is to think of the thirty people, all relatives, who have probably entered the profane bathroom in the last twelve hours, and how they have contemplated and mused about my nightly undergarments while taking a big dump, or perchance brushing their teeths. Makes me all gooey inside.