FOR RENT: Panties Included

One week ago I walked into my apartment, checked for any mail that might cause a smile and instead saw the lease with highlighted lines for my signature. My immediate response was to groan and cry in frustration that I DID NOT want to sign that paper.

Call it commitment issues but the thought of being bound to Damsel Drive for another year gave me anxiety. It felt like ants crawling under my skin, my stomach flipped, my eyes widened then narrowed and in my head all my thoughts streamed together in sudden clarity saying Get Out.

A day later I typed up a little ad for Craigslist pimping out my room. It failed. The next day I tried again minus the pimping and just tried to find someone to move in. I got two responses. At this point I realized that I might be living in Salt Lake City for the rest of my life.

I set up an appointment to have a girl come look at my apartment. It’s a bit old and not always appealing so I planned on doing a quick walk through to spruce it up before the showing. And by that I mean I prepared to pick my clothes up. Since I’d only stayed the night there once I believed my room to be relatively clean. The prospective roommate would arrive at 4:30 p.m. on Friday.

Unfortunately a last minute doctor’s appointment got scheduled for 4:00 p.m. In my ill state of mind I pushed the prospect back a half hour. Naïve, stupid, ridiculous.

I opened the door an hour late to meet said girl. She hadn’t called me so I assumed someone had been home and walked her through our apartment. I felt awful and flakey but couldn’t change what had happened. Then I walked into my room. The first sight to offend my eyes was a pair of purple panties with hot pink trim lying on the floor.

That one night I’d been home I’d stripped like a pro and thrown my clothes around my room. I let out a long sigh, found a pen and signed the lease.