Nothing like finding another woman’s underwear in your bedroom as an exercise in personal growth.

As most of you know from my last post, that’s what happened when I returned home after being away for 8 days.

If you missed the details you can find them (and the underwear…) here.

As Promised, Airing My Laundry Continues….

As the Sheriff pulled in the driveway my heart sank. I braced myself for the painful conversation that was sure to follow. He would confirm my worst fears and then…who knows.

Madeline commented on my previous post that it was as if I was tied to the tracks, just waiting for the train. And, in many ways that’s how I felt. Resigned to my fate. Unless…my hero comes through.

The Conversation

There was no small talk.

No ‘How was your day?’

No pretend.

Though I had not cried at all to this point, my eyes welled with tears as I faced him.

Me: I found a pair of woman’s underwear in our bedroom that isn’t mine.

Sheriff: (without skipping a beat or losing any color in his face…) That’s impossible. Where?

Me: On the …

Sheriff: (interrupting) You don’t mean that black pair I left on your dresser do you??

Suffice to say that anything he said from that point on was unimportant.

It’s Over

It was clear to me that however the underwear got there, wherever they might have come from, it was not as I had feared. And as quickly as doubt about everything had washed over me –- it washed away.

The Sheriff did not mock me. He understood. He comforted me. I cried. A lot.

Okay, maybe he did mock me…but just a little. I laughed. Then cried some more. And now it’s over.

Whose Underwear Was It?

Don’t you remember, he said, that I told you on the phone that I had found a pair of your underwear behind the dresser in the guest room?

Yes, I remembered. But I had said at the time that it was probably Traci’s or Cindy’s (visitors) because guests open their luggage on the dresser…and the conversation quickly moved on.

Never did I think that the dusty underwear would resurface as the cause of such heartache.

For those who are curious, the underwear did in fact belong to ‘Cindy’. (Her name has been changed to protect the innocent. I don’t think she’d appreciate my showing her underwear to the world – as nice as it might be.)

Here on the ParmFarm, I try to share lessons learned – most of them, at my own expense. I thought about keeping this one to myself, but it was just too good. Or bad. So…

The Lesson I Learned From Another Woman’s Underwear

Just because you don’t understand something, doesn’t mean there isn’t a good explanation.

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Photo courtesy of Daniel Morris.

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