My Stolen Panties Gave Them All HIV

My La Perla lingerie, the black lace set I d saved for, was gone.
Again.
Along with the matching panties, all vanished from the drying rack on the balcony.
My husband Preston s boxers, however, were right where I d left them, untouched.
Did you take them? I asked, trying to keep my voice level.
He scoffed from behind his newspaper. You think your panties are some kind of treasure, Audra? Who d want to steal them?
Thirteenth floor. All windows and doors locked tight. No cat burglar was scaling the building for my underwear.
This was the second time.
A cold knot of dread tightened in my stomach. There were only four people in this apartment: me, Preston, and his parents.
My father-in-law?
He d had a stroke and walked with a pronounced limp. Was he really sneaking around in the dead of night, exerting all that effort for a few pairs of my panties?
The thought sent a wave of revulsion through me. It was too sick to contemplate.
But I had to be sure.
I started doing laundry only on weekends, when I was home. The moment my father-in-law left his room, my eyes were glued to the balcony.
The thefts stopped.
The conclusion was as unavoidable as it was disgusting. I was living with a pervert.
The air in the apartment suddenly felt thick, suffocating. I told Preston we needed to move out, to live separately from his parents.
He exploded.
Who are you accusing, Audra? My father? He gets a pension of over ten thousand a month. He can buy any damn underwear he wants. Why would he steal yours? Have you no shame?
He berated me right in front of them. My face burned, shifting from red to white.
My father-in-law, looking wounded, slammed his cane on the floor. If you re going to accuse me of such things in my own house, then you can both get out! I bought this place!

My mother-in-law, Dolores, chimed in, her voice dripping with venom. Some women just can t be satisfied with their own husbands. Always got their eyes on someone else s.
I was trapped, humiliated.
But then, something shifted.
A few weeks later, my father-in-law s condition worsened, and he was hospitalized again.
I did a load of laundry, and in my rush, forgot to bring it in before dark.
The next morning, my clothes were gone. Again.
Was there a thief after all?
I insisted we install a security camera.
Dolores overheard me and let out a cackle. A camera? In our own home? What do you have that s so valuable? Don t tell me you ve lost your precious panties again. Honestly, Audra, I wouldn t take your trashy lingerie if you paid me!
I looked to Preston for support.
He just sighed, annoyed. You must be misremembering. I didn t see you hang any laundry out. Your memory is worse than my mother s, and she s a senior citizen.
She s right, Dolores added, patting his arm. You re always saying I m going senile, but you re the one with paranoid delusions.
But I had hung them. With my own hands.
They both insisted I was wrong. No one had seen any laundry.
Was I losing my mind?
Soon after, I knew I wasn t. The thief was real. And they only targeted me.
My new jar of La Mer cream, a huge splurge, had a large scoop gouged out of it.
My SK-II facial essence, just two days old, was half-empty.
I showed Preston. He waved it off with a laugh. Maybe your face is just getting bigger. You re using it up faster.
I even started to suspect him.
We fought. I threatened to call the police if we couldn t catch the thief.

The next day, the missing La Mer cream had been refilled with some other lotion and stirred, a lumpy, off-white mess.
The half-empty essence bottle was topped up with a yellowish liquid that didn t even match the color.
It smelled faintly of saliva before. Now, it was a rancid mix of spit and something acrid, almost like urine.
Then, I saw it.
Dolores was propped up on the couch, her bare, calloused feet on the coffee table. The air around her carried a strange mix: the sharp, medicinal scent of foot cream for cracked heels, and& the unmistakable, luxurious fragrance of La Mer.
My La Mer was now contaminated with the smell of her foot cream.
A wave of nausea washed over me.
Mom, I said, my voice sweeter than sugar. Your heels are looking so smooth lately. What have you been using?
Oh, you know, she said, not looking up from her show. That stuff you bought.
She blurted it out before she could stop herself.
I had never bought her face cream in my life.
So. She was the thief.
I told Preston my theory: his mother had swapped my expensive face cream with her cheap foot cream.
He refused to believe it.
Stop being so paranoid, Audra, you sound like you belong in a mental institution. My mother is an old woman. What would she want with your face cream? She spends all day at the hospital taking care of Dad. She doesn t have time for your nonsense.
Then let s check her foot cream, I challenged. Let s compare them.
Preston s face hardened. Just drop it. She s been through enough. Don t upset her.
Fine.
I didn t need his permission.
I took my now-contaminated jar of La Mer and swapped it with Preston s own face cream.
A few days later, his face started to peel.

And it carried a faint, but distinct, smell of stinky feet.
He was mortified.
A trip to the dermatologist confirmed it: a fungal infection.
Athlete s foot. On his face.
How in the hell did I get athlete s foot on my face? he raged, refusing to go to work.
I feigned sympathy. I have no idea. I mean, Mom s the only one in the house with a foot fungus& I let my gaze drift towards Dolores s ever-present feet on the furniture.
Hearing her son was afflicted, Dolores jumped to her own defense.
I may have it, but it s not like I could give it to his face! Audra, it must have been you! You probably put your feet on his face while he was sleeping!
I held up my hands. Mom, we ve been sleeping in separate rooms for months. Does fungus travel through the air now?
I sighed dramatically. I just felt so bad for him. I gave him my new La Mer to use, since I can t use it with my skin allergies right now. I never thought it would give him an infection.
Dolores s eyes widened in fury, pointing a trembling finger at me. You! Why would you give my son your face cream?
What? It s good stuff. I was just trying to be nice, I said, blinking innocently. Why, Mom? Did you want to use it too?
She quickly changed the subject.
Preston, though he wouldn t admit it, now knew the truth.
He just muttered that we should all just forget about it.
Easy for him to say. It wasn t his face covered in a rash.
One day, I left for work and had to turn back for a forgotten file.
As I approached our building, I saw Dolores downstairs, laughing and getting a little too close with a few old geezers from her line-dancing class.
Shouldn t she be at the hospital with Dad?
I chalked it up to an old woman s freedom, her right to have friends.
I was about to leave when my eyes caught on her stockings.

They were black, with an intricate floral pattern.
They were mine.
A two-hundred-dollar pair of Wolford s.
Stretched to their absolute limit on her thick, fleshy legs, the delicate pattern was warped into a grotesque parody.
My expression twisted into a mask as distorted as the flowers on her thighs.
I sprinted back upstairs and tore through my drawers, praying I was wrong.
I wasn t.
The stockings were gone.
So was a black mini-skirt and a pair of black, red-soled Louboutins.
If I wasn't mistaken, she was wearing the entire stolen ensemble.
I trembled with a rage so pure it felt like ice in my veins.
She was stealing my life, piece by piece.
I got home early that evening. Dolores wasn t back yet.
I checked my closet. There, stuffed back in the drawer, was a pair of stockings with runs all down the legs. And on the floor, my Louboutins, reeking of sweat and cheap perfume.
They were back.
The entire closet stank of her, a sour, cloying odor, as if she d shoved her dirty feet right up my nose.
I threw everything in the trash.
Dolores came home a few minutes later, rubbing her calves.
Oh, taking care of a sick man is so exhausting, she whined. My legs are just killing me.
I nodded, my smile razor-sharp. I bet. Especially when you re taking care of multiple sick men at once. Your legs must be shaking.
Dolores froze, her face turning a mottled purple.

Audra, what are you trying to imply?
Imply? Nothing, Mom, I said, my voice dripping with innocence. If someone s talking trash about you, you just tell me who, and I ll set them straight.
She sputtered, speechless with either rage or shame.
Just then, Preston walked in. Seeing her son, Dolores found her voice. She promptly threw herself on the floor.
Woe is me! she wailed. I work my fingers to the bone for this family, and this is the thanks I get! I m old and useless!
She cried and thrashed, a one-woman melodrama.
Preston, weary from his day, saw his mother on the floor and his temper flared.
Audra! What did you do to my mother now? With Dad in the hospital, you decide to bully her? Who do you think you are?
He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in. Apologize to my mother. Now.
Dolores, from her position on the floor, escalated her performance.
That s it! I m not going to the hospital tomorrow to take care of your father! Let your wife do it! In other families, it s the daughter-in-law s job anyway! Why should an old woman like me have to do it?
Preston s face was dark with anger. If you ve upset my mother this much, then you can take care of both of them!
I was bewildered. Mom, what did I do? When did I bully you?
She just lay there, moaning, offering no evidence.
I just saw her out with some friends, having a good time, I mentioned casually. I even took a few pictures&
Like a jack-in-the-box, Dolores sprang up from the floor.
Pictures? What pictures? Audra, you spied on me? That s an invasion of my privacy! Show me those pictures right now!
Her panic confirmed everything.
Oh, I can t seem to find them, I said with a breezy smile. I just thought you looked so happy, I snapped one& or maybe I forgot. It s possible I didn t even take one.
Dolores let out a shaky breath, but her eyes were still wide with fear. Audra, if you have too much time on your hands, go take care of your father-in-law! I wasn t out with anyone! You must have been seeing things!
Preston pointed a finger at me. Audra, you re quitting your job tomorrow. You re going to the hospital to take care of my dad.

Why? He s your father, not mine.
Have you no conscience? I married you! Taking care of my parents is part of the deal!
We were screaming now.
He dragged me into the bedroom, lowering his voice to a hiss. Can you just stop provoking them? Be nice to them. Their pensions are huge. All of that money will be ours one day.
My father-in-law had been some kind of mid-level executive before he retired. The inheritance would be substantial.
I swallowed my pride. For the money.
But I wasn t quitting my job.
I just installed a new digital lock on our bedroom door.
The next day, my phone rang. It was Preston.
Honey, why is our bedroom door locked? What s the password?
What do you need?
Mom wants to clean your room for you.
Tell her not to bother. I ll clean it myself.
I could hear Dolores s shrill voice in the background. I offer to clean her room out of the goodness of my heart, and this is her attitude! Fine! If you re so rich, hire a maid! I m done serving you two!
Cleaning my room? More like emptying it.
I didn t give him the password.
When I got home that night, the lock had been pried off, a gaping hole kicked through the door.
Another pair of my heels was missing.
I demanded to know who did it.
Dolores s voice was slick with false sympathy. The more you lock your door, the more you invite thieves, dear. Strange how we never lose anything, isn't it? Only you. Are you sure you re not the one crying wolf?
Preston just picked at his ear, bored. Come on, Audra. It s family. Who are you trying to keep out? You think Mom is stealing from you? What do you have that s so valuable? Is this really worth all the drama?

It was true, none of it was priceless.
But it was the violation. And she didn t even have the decency to be a competent thief. She always brought the items back, as if to taunt me.
Like the torn stockings stuffed back in my drawer.
And the mini-skirt, returned reeking of something metallic and sour, stained with a disgusting, unidentifiable fluid.
She didn't even bother to wash it. Too busy, I suppose.
I shoved the skirt and stockings into Preston s hands.
Your mother is truly ageless, I said, my voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. Wearing my mini-skirts and stockings to take care of Dad at the hospital every day. No wonder he s not getting any better.
Preston stared at the sticky stain on the skirt, his face paling. He promised he would get to the bottom of it.
But Dolores, cornered, came out swinging.
Son, don t let her fool you! She s the one cheating on you!
I can t even fit into that tiny skirt! Who would wear her clothes? I m at the hospital all day! I leave before you and get home after you! The neighbors can all vouch for me!
In fact, it s your wife who s been sneaking around with other men! I ve seen it myself, several times! If you don t believe me, go ask the neighbors!
I couldn t believe her audacity. She actually dragged us downstairs to confront the neighbors.
Right into the middle of the line-dancing crowd.
Mitch, the smarmy guy from the second floor, took off his glasses and gave me a long, leering look.
Walter, the frail-looking man from downstairs, stroked his white beard and grinned, showing a row of yellowed teeth.
And Gary, the creepy owner of the corner store, fanned himself with a self-important air.
Dolores nudged Mitch with her elbow, giving him a look.
He snapped to attention. Ah, so this is your daughter-in-law?
Preston was frantic. Yes! What did you see?

The three men exchanged a look, then spoke as one.
Yes, we saw her. With a man.
Actually, it was several men, Walter corrected.
They were doing all sorts of& things, Gary added, his eyes gleaming. Down in that little grove of trees over there. A real train, if you know what I mean.
I was stunned into silence. When?
I m at work all day! My company can provide my timecards!
Walter held up a delicate hand, pinching the end of his beard. No, no, it was during your workday. We saw you sneak out. We couldn t believe it was you at first, but it was.
That s right, Mitch said, his voice a high-pitched imitation of a woman s. We heard you, from a distance. Screaming, Oh, please, don t stop!
I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. From a distance? Mitch, haven t you been half-deaf for years?
Ah, but your screams, my dear! They were so loud! Quite an earful! An absolute earful!
They painted a vivid, disgusting picture. Dolores listened, her own face flushed with a strange mix of excitement and indignation.
I didn t even get a chance to deny it.
The slap came so fast I didn t see it. Preston s hand cracked across my face, my head snapping back.
Divorce, he snarled, his face white with rage.
He dragged me back upstairs by my hair. Dolores, meanwhile, stayed behind to broadcast the news to anyone who would listen.
My daughter-in-law! Caught cheating! With multiple men! Can you believe the shame?
Her voice, shrill and triumphant, echoed through the courtyard.
One of the other wives smirked. Really? And you re so happy about it?
Another one, Walter s wife, gave Dolores a sharp look. Guess your son isn t man enough for her. If he needs help, my son s a urologist. Specializes in& performance issues.
Dolores s face turned purple. These women were her rivals, the wives of the very men she d been cavorting with.

And you, Mitch s wife added, her eyes narrowing. Isn t your husband in the hospital? Why are you parading around here in stockings every day, dancing with my husband?
And that little mini-skirt you wore last week, Gary s wife chimed in. Weren t you cold?
Dolores glared back. You re all just blind and jealous! I never wore a mini-skirt! And even if I did, it would look better than the adult diapers you all wear!
Back in the apartment, Preston was tearing through my things, screaming that he was throwing me out with nothing.
My cheek throbbed, a dull, aching fire.
As the shock wore off, a cold clarity settled over me. I couldn t let this happen.
If I agreed to a divorce now, I would be branded a cheater for life.
The real cheater was his mother.
But explaining that to Preston was useless. He would never believe me over her. He and his little gang of degenerates.
I would not go down for their crimes.
I took a deep breath, walked over to him, and began to apologize. I told him it was all a misunderstanding. I swore I would be a better wife, a better daughter-in-law.
I begged him to forgive me.
Dolores walked in to find me practically kneeling at his feet.
She smirked, triumphant. Some women just need to be taught a lesson. Otherwise, they get out of line.
I forced a smile. You re right, Mom. You re absolutely right.
And locking your bedroom door! The nerve! She sat on the couch, hoisting one of her foul-smelling feet onto the coffee table.
The urge to vomit was a physical wave.
I closed my eyes, swallowed it down, and apologized again.
I ll never lock the door again. From now on, whatever is in my room& please, Mom. Feel free to use it.
Hmph. That s more like it, she grunted.

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