The leopard skin undies hanging from the doorknob swung lightly in the breeze. Who left a window open somewhere, I thought. I almost went over to check before realizing that the undies were more important than the breeze. There’s an old saying, “The undies are always more important than the breeze.”

I brought my attention back to the leopard skin undies hanging from the doorknob of my bedroom door. There was nothing to do except open the door and go “Ah ha!” and catch my cheating wife with her naked lover. But the problem was that the undies were covering the doorknob. I really didn’t want to touch them.

I put my ear against the door and I could hear some rustling and bustling and perhaps even some hustling going on inside. There was no moaning. I thought, “Good! At least they’re not enjoying themselves.”

I was about to knock on the door and ask my wife to open the door, or if she could send her lover to do it. Coz I really didn’t want to touch another man’s undies. But then that would give them the time to get dressed. Or come up with an excuse. My wife could say, “We were just wrestling because he’s an Olympic wrestler and I was helping him train and that’s why we’re all sweaty and flushed.”

I’d go, “But why is he not wearing his undies?”

And she could go, “It came off while we wrestled our way inside the bedroom. And then the door got knocked shut.”

I would have no way of proving she was lying. It would be my word against their word. Their words would gang up on my word and beat it up. I bet the word of an Olympic wrestler knew how to wrestle.

“No,” I said to myself, “If I want to catch them red handed, I need to be brave and touch another man’s undies and not worry about how gay that is, and open the door and rush inside and say ah ha!”

Why their hands were red, I don’t know. Maybe they killed someone. Maybe it was paint. But it was important to catch them with red hands. Not blue hands or green hands, but red hands.

The leopard skin undies moved again in the breeze. The open window was in the back of my mind. We lived in an expensive house with floor to ceiling windows on top of a small hill. It could get very windy sometimes. And there was a little forest around the hill. Open windows meant all kinds of leaves and sticks and debris and small critters and sometimes squirrels and birds and other animals could come inside. But the more important thing right now was the naked Olympic wrestler with red hands who was making sex to my wife.

I pinched the leopard skin undies with the tippy tips of my fingers and threw them aside. I went, “Ughh” for good measure and wiped my hand on my suit. I grabbed the doorknob and was about to throw the door open when I heard my wife’s high heeled footsteps from behind me. I turned and there she was. Fully clothed, holding shopping bags in her hands and a pair of gigantic sun glasses raised up on her head.

“Wait, you’re just getting home?” I asked confused.

“Yeah,” she said, “But what are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming home till Monday?” also confused.

Our confused stares met each other half way between us and collided.

“So, you’re not having sex with the red-handed Olympic wrestler in the bedroom?”

“What?”

“Whose leopard skin undies are these?” I asked, pointing towards the floor.

“I don’t know,” she said, “Where did you find them?”

“Hanging on the doorknob!”

“Well, they are not mine!” she protested.

“They are not mine either!” I said, “I always wear white underwear. Everyone knows that.”

“Honey, you’re confusing me. What is going on? And is there a window open? Why is there so much mud?”

I hadn’t noticed the mud till now for some reason. I guess I was too busy picturing my wife with that handsome Olympic wrestler.

More rustling noises came through the door, along with some growling.

“There’s someone in there,” I told my wife. “I think they are having sex of some kind.”

My wife, Gina, that’s her name, came up to the door and listened. She could hear noises as well.

“Call the cops, hon!” she said. Hon was just short for honey. My name isn’t honey. It’s a term of endearment. My name is…

“Tommy!” she snapped me out of my thoughts. “We have to call the cops.” She was whispering now for some reason.

“Screw that,” I said and opened the door.

“Ah ha!” I said, rushing inside. Guess what, there was a leopard on my bed. He had torn up the entire bed and the pillows as well. How do I know it was a he? Well, he was naked around the waist and I could see his pretty huge thing-a-bob.

“Oh my god!” Gina said, coming inside the bedroom.

“I didn’t know leopards wore undies!” I said to her excited. It’s not everyday that you learn something.

The leopard jumped off the bed and on to Gina. I couldn’t tell if he was eating her or having sex with her. She was screaming but that could have been from pleasure. There was a lot of blood and her hands turned red.

“Ah ha!” I said, “I knew it! You are cheating on me!”