The elephant vanishes

Any good experiment will be divided into 3 distinct sections:
1) Method – Accidentally leave a small item of latex fetishwear where it was almost impossible to ignore.
2) Results – None. Well, clean laundry was put away adjacent to, even touching the rubberwear, but absolutely nothing was said.
3: Conclusion –  [… sigh …]

It’s difficult to conceive that She didn’t notice my kinkiest thong.
[And just before you say anything, Tolerant Reader, I’m aware I may be obsessing over this at the minute, and it’s not the best way to out yourself as a fetishist to your Wife, nor is it a remotely sane way to conduct a marriage, but …]

If She’s not going to comment on the fact that She found a latex pantsuk in my underwear drawer, then what’s to do?

I could just “pretend” I didn’t realise She’d found the offending article. Let alone that She may have found it once before.
I could assume She hadn’t pulled the drawer out far enough to notice what wasn’t properly hidden at the back, and I could assume Her attention was elsewhere when She slotted my clean briefs into place … right next to the rubber. It’s not entirely inconceivable – She’s not the most observant of people.
I could pull them out of the drawer and put them on in front of Her as we get dressed in the morning.
I could just tuck them back behind the hiking socks as if … well, OK, She’s found them, but if She cared about Her husband being a fetishist She’d say, right?
I could confront Her about the fact that She’s not confronted me about having found a whole load of underwear that no manly man would ever admit to wearing in public. Thongs? G-stings? Peach coloured lace manties? A pouch that is nothing but a pouch? A G-string which is all string and no pouch? And the kinkiest of the lot … rubber? Why hasn’t She said anything?
… or …
Option E: Acknowledge that I know She knows and doesn’t intend to deal with the situation by removing them from my underwear drawer and putting them somewhere else. She wasn’t supposed to see them. (OK, She was supposed to see them. it was hoped to be some sort of conversational catalyst.) But seeing as She hasn’t said anything, lets suppose She wants to not say anything, and we’ll make sure there’s no risk of Her stumbling across anything She might not want to again.

I went for Option E.

I’ve rearranged my socks and undies.
No more hiking socks in my underwear drawer.
They’ve been replaced by day-to-dat socks. (Yes, Curious Reader, my socks are just as colourful as my pantsuk and are far more likely to match than my Wife’s bra and pants.)
No more thongs, G-strings and manties hidden at the back of the drawer.
No more fetishwear accidentally finding its way into plain view.

I figured it’s not the most obvious thing to do, but by making a really obvious change, I’m acknowledging that I know She may have discovered my dirty little secret [Ed: AM’s dirty little secret? More like one of his many dirty little, medium and, debatably really quite big secrets!] and just leave it at that. If She wants to stick Her head in the sand, let’s hope She notices the desert just got a bit bigger.

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