I See Ganesh's Underpants

We are at a friend's house for dinner. Her sister comes as well, bringing her daughter (Le Niece) and son. Before they arrive, I ask my friend about the underwear strewn near the garden.


The answer?


The pair is her niece's. She pointed out to said niece that it was there. Clearly, she'd dropped it after changing into a bathing suit. It's not like she dropped it there whilst in the throes of a romantic intercourse interlude.


But the niece never picked it up. And so it remains by the garden.


When the niece arrives, I make plenty of snide comments about it. Those snide comments have no effect. The niece is, after all, only 13.


When her mother arrives, I make more snide comments. The mother joins in.


The niece ignores us.


So I place the offending pair of underpants on the Ganesh in my friend's garden. And then I start getting more annoying about them. [I blame the Sangria. Not really. I blame nothing other than that is who I am.]


The niece never does diddly-squat with the underwear, no matter how much I berate and rail and tell my friend to take photos.


For all I know, the garden Ganesh still sports the underwear. I silently thank God -- no f#$kin' Ganesh for me, thanks -- that all three of my kids would be mortified if it were them.