Missing: 20 Pairs of Underwear

I tried to give Harlem the benefit of the doubt.

I tried to overlook the Chinese food restaurants on every corner.

The three questionable men who consistently sit on the hood of my car.

And the fact that I'm forced to shop at Pathmark.

But I'm turning my back on this historic community after Underwear Gate 2008.

I walk down to the local laundromat to pick up my unmentionables and the older black woman behind the counter gives me this troubled look when I hand her my pink slip.

"Uhh .... Marcus, there was a problem with your clothes."

Never the sentence you want to hear when you have handed over three weeks of laundry.

"Someone went into the washing machine and took your load of colored clothes. I'm sorry about that."

It didn't click at first, because when I did do my laundry, I washed my colored boxers with my whites.

Only if Classic Laundry did the same.

I return home to find out that every pair of underwear that I own, except the ones I'm currently wearing, are gone.

Probably laid out on a towel on 125th as we speak.

I feel so naked.