Okay, so the thing about
certain items of apparel was that they were all very nice for wearing, but they had to be washed by hand and hung up to dry. Which, if you were Francine "Oh God Oh God I Hope No One I Know Saw Me Buying This" Peters, meant frequent forays back to the bathroom to see if they were still damp and if possibly a hairdryer would help.
She'd finally decided to bring it just in case this time, when she heard the voices through the bathroom door.
"What d'ye want that fuir, then?"
"The fabric, ye daft goolie! Could make an 'undred kilts of it easy!"
"Who'd wear a kilt oot of that great black filmy thing!"
"...Have ye not heard about Our John, Hamish?"
"...Och, right. Give us a boost, then!"
And then the door burst open.
And that's how Francine Peters came to be running down the dorm hallway after a gaggle of little blue men, black lace, and pink satin, pointing a hairdryer at them and yelling, "Stop! Give me those back! NOT SMURFY, GUYS!
NOT SMURFY!"
In case
anyone wondered.
[Estaaaaablishy!]