Velcro and Lace

A friend stops by a few days ago to tell me this wonderfully romantic story.

Her husband works on the Delta runway. He wakes up at 4:50am to get to work by 5:00am. In the dark of their bedroom, he throws on his uniform which consists of a blue shirt, dark blue pants, and a reflective vest to keep him from getting smushed by an airplane. Once there, he has a quick cigarette in the break room before starting the chore of loading luggage into the underside of 747s for the next 8 hours. It is, by definition, the most blue-collared American job that exists.
And with such a job description comes a classy group of men, as you can imagine.

He walks into the break room for that morning smoke and is greeted by a co-worker,

"Had a wild night I see?"

"Not really. Why?"

"Dude. Look down."

Hanging from the velcro of of his reflective vest was a pair of my friend's panties, somehow overlooked in his speedy exit.

She gets a call later that day saying,

"You are going to kill me."

"What? What did you do?"

"I had to throw away a pair of your panties."

"Uhhh... ok. Why?"

After explaining the situation, she's so relieved that they were clean, she could care less that they were tossed out with his morning cigarette. I say he could have balled them up and put it in his pocket (kind of romantic, right?). Or worn them home to her.