At a loss

The Tuesday morning routine: Feed the cat, shower, bus, dry cleaning, egg and bacon roll, espresso, work. The dry cleaning was what made Tuesday different from Monday, Wednesday, Thursday or even Friday.
'Ah sir, how are we this morning?' asked the attendant, Franco.
'Yeah, fine mate'. He heaped the shirts onto the counter.
'Five shirts for laundering and pressing, sir?' 'Yep, the usual'. He replied, somewhat automatically. He was thinking about the next step in the routine. Dry cleaning..egg and bacon roll? He kinda felt like eating pancakes this morning, which was strange, as he never usually liked anything sweet for breakfast. Franco was picking up the shirts, detangling and smoothing, checking for any marks. Suddenly, a pair of pink, rather frilly knickers fell onto the counter. They both stared in some surprise. Franco raised one eyebrow.
'Unfortunately sir, these are not part of the five shirt weekly special.' 'No, of course not..' he said quickly, somewhat embarrassed, hand ready to snatch them back.
'Ah, sir, I will give you a paper bag. You don't really need anyone at work discovering what you wear on the weekend!'
He carried the bag in his pocket all through the unexpected pancakes, the espresso and work, occasionally patting it to check it was still where it was supposed to be, that the bag and its contents hadn't fallen out during an important meeting.
On Tuesday evening, the owner of the undergarment was sitting rather prettily at his kitchen counter, sipping a glass of wine while he prepared dinner.
By the way, did you happen to find my pink knickers in your bedroom? He stopped chopping for a minute, smiled, fished the bag out of his pocket and gave it to her. Mystified, she peaked inside.
'Oh, um, why were they in a paper bag in your pocket?' They laughed as he relived the morning, peering at her in mock seriousness, 'From now on, I'm only removing your underwear if you promise to take them with you when you depart.'
Much, much later on Tuesday evening, he was sleeping beside her while she lay drowsily, contentedly contemplating the concept of her underwear with him at work all day. She liked very much this idea that even when she had been missing him during those dreary working hours, there had in fact been something of her with him where she was not supposed to be, threatening his working facade. A garment carefully selected with only one purpose in mind, only to be abandoned so hurriedly and without a second thought in the glorious achievement of that intention. She quietly propped herself on her elbows to watch him sleep; to map again his eyelashes, the line of his mouth, his profile.
He stirred, mumbling 'Ok?'
She smiled, 'Very, very ok.'
(Just wondering what thou wouldst steal from me on a Wednesday, good sir.)

Jeannie