He's just one more

This has been sitting in my draft folder for weeks now. It's time to get it out.

I'm not the most morally sound person. I often knowingly try to do the wrong thing. Sometimes for personal gain, but usually just for my own amusement. Sure, I feel guilty about some of things I do. I mean, after I can stop laughing about them. But, it's only just a matter of time before I come up with some other ridiculous plan to do something vindictive, or just plain mean.

Obviously, my exes are often the victims of all this. I dated Shrek's fraternity brother; I stole Shrek's TV remote (the TV wouldn't turn on by pushing the button on the unit itself); I signed Fruit Fly up for about 20 free bibles to be delivered by Mormons; I prank called a guy I briefly dated in high school about 50 times (all collect calls that he actually accepted, resulting in an extra $95 on his phone bill); I projectile vomited guacamole in Boris's bathroom (OK, that wasn't intentional); I signed Fruit Fly up for a gay porn magazine; I made Shrek fail out of college (at least he said so, and I am sticking with that). There are probably even more things I could add to this list, but it's been so long I don't remember anymore.

I am good at this type of thing. It takes real talent to come up with this kind of stuff. Luckily, my exes are not nearly as good at this as I am. My most recent ex (yeah, I'm up to 4 now) is perhaps the worst. For the sake of clarity, I will refer to Ex 4 as 'Fred,' because he had the same physique as Fred Flinstone.

I had decided that I was not going to do anything vindictive this time. Partially out of respect for Fred, and partially out of a feeling that I need to handle these things in a more adult way. However, he chose not to take the high road. I can't fault him for this because I've done it so many times myself. In fact, I'm doing it right now by sharing that he did.

Fred and I dated for 2 and a half years, so obviously during this time, he had accumulated a large amount of my stuff. Well, when he bagged-up all my stuff, he decided to throw in a little surprise for me: some other girl's underwear. He might try to play the "they must have gotten mixed-in with my laundry" card, but I'm not buying it. After two and a half years, I would think he would know what kind of panties I wear. Honestly though, I found this hilarious. I mean, the idea was a good one, but the execution was awful. The underpants he chose to include were size 7 (for you guys out there, that means HUGE) and they were the kind that one purchases in packs of 10 at the grocery store. Obviously not the kind of underwear I have and obviously not quite the type of underwear that would make me jealous. I am going to refrain from writing out my judgments about the owner of these underpants. You all know what I'm thinking.

So, Fred, I am not going to even ask where you met the owner of the underpants (honestly, I don't want to know). But really, I have a bit of advice on how to pull this off better for your next ex. Go to Nordstrom and throw down the plastic for some saucy little red g-string, size small (part of me thinks you're bluffing with this one anyway). Then she'll be jealous, not humored.