For about ten years now, Katharyn, Lori, and I have met for a girls’ weekend.  Beach condos, New York City hotels, and even our homes have all played host to our once-a-year estrogen-charged escapes.

This year, we chose Kansas City for our latest installment.  We arrived late Thursday night to discover our lovely suite overlooked the Country Club Plaza, yes; my expectations and excitement were brimming.  The only thing I anticipated more than the shopping was the emptying of my brimming bladder; yes, it had been a long drive.

After checking in, I raced into our hotel bathroom and quickly shut the door.  Well, I tried to shut the door.  Something had lodged beneath it and the door was jammed.  I reached down to dislodge the assumed washcloth, grasped a wad of fabric in my fist—and screamed.  Katharyn and Lori rushed to the scene for a “sight” inspection.  I knew for certain when Katharyn yelled, “Gross!” and Lori groaned.  I held an anonymous pair of men’s underwear in my hand.  We all marched from the restroom to the phone.  I pressed zero and connected with the young man at the front desk.