133 Hours

6 Hours

6 HOURS

I’m determined to stay dispassionate. When I remove my shoes and my dress, the technician places them in evidence bags. I unclip my b*a and hand it over, too, but I stop, frozen, as I go to remove my briefs. This isn’t right.

“Is something wrong?” she asks.

I stare at her and then back at my underwear and my jaw drops, initially lost for words.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“These undies, they aren’t mine,” I say.

Her look is quizzical.

“I never buy this type. I always either wear designer underwear or else Marks and Spencer’s. When I dressed last Friday, the last day I remember, I’m sure I was wearing a Victoria’s Secret thong. These are plain white briefs.” I tug the elastic waistband at the back to look at the label. It confirms my suspicions. The briefs are labelled George;