My yard is no stranger to trash. It’s a good 2 feet higher than the neighbors’ because of the three decades of household trash tossed into the soil as a sort of emulsifier. But we have cleaned the top layer and laid a patio and garden in a small corner of it, and I’m annoyed when I have to pick up new trash.

But one day a couple weeks ago I couldn’t help but be amused by the out-of-the-ordinary refuse I found as I let the dog out — one pair of pink panties, one open package of lube, and one big, fat, gushy condom full of milky sperm. I usually pick up the trash around my house barehanded, but I wasn’t touching that shit. So I went inside to get a paper towel, and when I came out, my housemates had let their dogs out — and the condom had mysteriously disappeared. I assume it was the big ridgeback-mix puppy who, uh, cleaned it up for me. Gross.

Every few days, another pair of panties sails into my yard from the building a couple doors down. That’s right, they have to make an effort to fling them over my neighbor’s yard and into mine. Like when they tossed that glue trap with a smashed mouse in it a few months back. It takes talent.

Those apartments are mostly Section 8 and stabilized. I guess now we know where the money they’re saving on rent is going — into an endless supply of new panties.

Whatever, joke’s on them — that dump will be condos in a year (like I figured months ago). Done deal.

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