Dear Underwear Hiding Beneath the Curtains

Dear Underwear Hiding Beneath the Curtains,

Ciao, bella — or should I say ciao, brutta sorpresa? I just checked into my Fairmont suite, ready for a little luxury, a little prosecco, a little “treat yourself” moment… and there you are. Lurking under the drapes like a shameful secret from housekeeping’s past.

At first, I thought my eyes were deceiving me. Surely, a Fairmont would not come with bonus drawers, no? But alas, there you lie. Wrinkled. Haunted. Possibly sentient. We locked eyes — you and I — and in that moment, I knew peace had left the room.

You’ve been staring at me ever since, mocking me silently. I swear if you had lips, you’d smirk. I tried to ignore you, but you know I can’t relax when I feel like a crime scene witness in my own hotel room.

Now, I don’t want to be dramatic (okay, I love being dramatic), but this feels like an omen. If there are underwear under the curtains, what fresh horrors are under the bed? Under the duvet? Inside my soul?

I will be calling the front desk — not to complain, per se, but to purify this room. I expect holy water, a hazmat suit, and perhaps a complimentary upgrade far, far away from whatever… history… you represent.

Sincerely,

Sassy Sorentina 💋(Currently sipping prosecco for courage and sleeping with one eye open)