I'm Wearing Boxer Shorts Under This Dress, That's How Bad It Is

I am really, really embarrassed to admit this, but I need to put out an all points bulletin on my underpants. I would swear to you that last week I had about 14 pairs of underpants, and today I have 3 pairs.

I'm not saying this has never happened before, but it is one thing to drunkenly leave them in some guy's dorm room in college when you are leaving in the dark because holy shit, don't let him wake up, and it is another thing entirely to be a staid old married lady who can't keep up with her drawers.

I am beginning to believe in the existence of underpants gnomes. Seriously, where the hell are they going and how are they getting there? I swear to you here and now, before all these blog witnesses and God, buddha, and the spaghetti monster, I am not taking them off anywhere but in my home. I have looked in the bed, under the bed, in the couch, in the dog crates, in the lair under the bed where the dogs drag all things interesting and treasure-ish (bones, dead birds, rocks, toilet paper, etc. And yes, they did used to steal my underwear to be dragged out as soon as some sort of dignified company came over. This has not happened in a year, at least, thank God. Although it was a little funny when they dragged out the red thong in front of the Jehovah's Witnesses. Not as funny in front of my mother in law). They are not behind the dryer, they are not in the washer, they are not in the laundry basket.

I have come up with a few scenarios:

1. The dogs are actually EATING them, in order to hide the fact that they stole them. This is most likely not the case, because I believe there would have been, er, evidence of that, by now.

2. My husband is hiding them. This is also unlikely. My husband cannot hide things. He cannot hide presents, and I know exactly where he keeps his porn (I don't tell him, though - I think porn must be more fun if you think you're getting away with something).

3. There is a juvenile delinquent who broke into the house and stole my underpants. Not the computer or the tv or the iPod or any jewelry or the cash laying around the house. Just my underpants. This is unlikely, because while we all know a pair of girl's panties and $20 is enough to keep us safe, they didn't steal the money.

4. There really are underpants gnomes making a profit off my underwear.

5. I have some sort of medical condition that makes me black out and wake up and never know anything happened, but in the mean time I have become a stripper/started attending Tom Jones concerts/devised some sort of underpants powered slingshot which quickly wears out the elastic. Like those people who drive their cars in their sleep after taking Ambien.

If you happen to have seen them, please send them home. This is ridiculous.