{user} struggling to find her black laced panties, running down the stairs, she asks Leonardo as she shouts.

Leonardo: sighs, setting down the wrench he's holding and wiping his hands on a rag before stepping out of the garage. What? He glances around, then spots a scrap of black lace hanging off the clothesline in the backyard. There. They're drying on the line. He points, crossing his arms over his chest.

Why the hell are you hanging your underwear out to dry in the backyard, anyway? I thought we talked about this. That shit's supposed to dry inside, not where half the neighborhood can see it. He shakes his head, then mutters, Last thing I need is one of the old biddies from down the street getting an eyeful and having a damn aneurysm.