I am not making this up.

Last Friday afternoon, after having lunch with my mom. I stopped to get the mail. As one does.

THIS is what was sitting in front of the mailbox. Spoiler alert: It’s not mine.

Of course, I picked it up with a stick. I didn’t know where that thing had been.

And, of course, a story started to unfold in my mind because plot bunny!    

My heroine stops to get her mail when her hot neighbor is stopping by with some misdelivered mail just as she was discovering said red thong.

Now they’re on the hunt together to find out who is leaving her thongs at her house (because yes, I’d have them show up periodically).

Then they’d have to go to all the lingerie shops in town to identify where she (he?) might have bought it. Naturally, to make their cover story believable they have to act like honeymooners trying on lingerie and end up having almost smexy times in the dressing room only to have it interrupted because they overhear a suspicious conversation next door between a man and a woman wherein he says “I’ll get rid of the evidence, don’t worry, baby. Just wear it for me?”

So our hero neighbor confronts the guy and interrupts them in flagrante delicto, before HE HIMSELF zipped up his jeans. So they’re in the dressing area dueling with bras and unzipped jeans and…

Well, you get the picture.

You wouldn’t believe it, but we also found a blue thong later that day.

What are we? The cheating evidence landfill over here?

But I kinda want to write that story now. What do you think? Should I?