Long-winded story with potentially drafty ending

On Monday, I was, as usual, in a rush to get out of the house so that I could make my train, which happens to be the latest possible train I can take and get to work at what one would deem "a reasonable hour." For me, lately, this is 10 a.m.

I threw on a pair of freshly washed and folded khaki pants (apparently I'm dressing down these days), slipped into some flip flops and hauled ass out the door.

We have two cars - Jim's Jeep Grand Cherokee that is on its last axle and my shiny new Nissan Versa SL. The "SL" is important because it enables me to retain some sense of dignity as I drive around in what your average car rental company would no doubt deem a "sub-compact economy" vehicle.

They have been named Dumpy and Zippy, respectively.

Well, Dumpy is so decrepid that it isn't trustworthy enough to make the daunting saga to New Jersey, which is where Jim's sucky job is located these days. So Jim drives Zippy to the bowels of America known as the Dirty Jerz, and I drive Dumpy for a grand total of 4 minutes to the train station.

The point is, I hop into Dumpy at 8:09, with only 7 minutes left until my train arrives, and I feel something on my thigh. In my pants. I assume it is a renegade dryer sheet, or perhaps a couple because I like my clothes extra soft and fresh. In any event, I can't just leave it there - it's like, bulging through my pant leg. So I reach into my pants (awkward!) and fish out not a dryer sheet, but a pair of wayward underwear.

The underwear were clean and clearly had just gotten trapped in the pants during the raucous drying cycle.

Now was the time for quick decision making. There was not enough time to run the underwear back into the house. I considered stuffing them into my bag, and then decided against it, because today would be the day that I tripped and fell and my underwear came flying out of my bag (note: this day has happened on many occasions), or the day that the NYPD decided the shifty girl clutching her bag to her chest should be selected for a random search in the subway.

I decided to leave them in Dumpy, shoving them behind the center console for the day. I then made a mental note to bring them into the house when I arrived home that evening.

Sadly, my mental notes leave my consciousness as quickly as they are posted these days.

This is why on Wednesday, I was again frantically flying out to Jim's car, running late again. He followed me out to grab (rescue?) a few items from Dumpy's clutches before I drove away and was digging around in the back seat.

"Adrienne, are these your underwear?"

(Cringe)

I tried to explain what they were doing there as succinctly as possible.

"Yeaaahhh. Caught in pants the other day. No time to run inside. Forgot." Pause. Then,

"Would you mind bringing them inside for me?"