THE DOG ATE MY UNDERWEAR
A panty-loving pup forces today’s contributor to take the ultimate walk of shame
I was dating this guy named Zach. One night, we met up at a local bar and I went home with him afterward. He lives down the street from the bar, and on the walk home I drunkenly wiped out. That was embarrassing, but not nearly as bad as what happened to me the next morning.
His dog, Trouble, had a real thing for my underwear. I woke up and started looking for my clothes from the previous night, a pair of tights and a white tunic. To my horror, I noticed a huge tear in my tights. Trouble had torn them apart to get at my underwear—which he chewed to shreds.
We had just started dating, so I didn’t know just what to say. I threw them in my bag, put my shoes on, and left. When I got down the stairs, I realized my feet were killing me, and somehow bleeding (yeah, you don’t feel that when you’re drunk). I then made another horrifying discovery—it was pouring. I had to run home as fast as I could on my bloody feet.
Doing that for a few blocks in a white tunic — not such a good idea. It quickly became see-through…and thanks to Trouble, I wasn’t wearing tights or underwear. Oh, and did I mention it was a Friday afternoon in the Financial District? Those Wall Street businessmen really got a show.
I ran as fast as I could, never looking back until I was inside my apartment.
