Rory's Magic Underpants

The boy's almost all grown up now. He's fourteen-years-old and a good two inches taller than I am already. He plays football better than I ever did, and he seems to need me less and less. He's almost never home. But he was a baby once, and then a toddler, and a super-cute kid. Once when he was about six-years-old I had taken him into the bathroom in our little basement apartment on Tremblay Drive for a much needed bath. "Arms up!" I commanded, and he obediently lifted his arms so that I could hoist off his t-shirt in one swift motion. I then grabbed the waist of his pants and gave a tug down. He stood patiently in his undies for all clothes to be removed in just such a systemic fashion. Next, I grabbed his undies and gave a tug down, and once again he stood patiently . . . in . . . his . . . undies?! What the . . . ?
"Rory, why do you have two pairs of underpants on?"
He pulled his arms back and looked down to spy the pair crumpled up with his pants around his ankles. Then his eyes darted upwards to the pair still clinging snugly around his waist, then down again, and back up several times as he tried to make sense of the situation. Eventually, he cocked his head sideways with an expression both hesitant and suspicious, and said, "I . . . don't . . . know," as though some magic underwear gnome had secretly applied the second pair while he wasn't looking.
How does a kid get on a second pair of underpants without knowing it!? I was a little confused but laughing uncontrollably, until an image flashed across my memory that set in motion a recall that explained the entire fiasco. Rory tends to be a little clumsy when he first wakes up - not the most alert morning kid. He also has a tendency to wear his underwear to bed as pajama bottoms. I remembered having seen him yank on his pants that morning from a pile of clean clothes his mother had laid out for him the night before. In his morning haze, he had crawled out of bed in his underpants and proceeded to put on the pile of clothes before him, underwear and all, without removing the ones he had been wearing already. And he lived his day comfortably unaware of the secret second pair of magic underpants until it was time to disrobe. I wonder how many pairs he might have layered up if I had waited a few more days before giving him a bath. At least he was keeping the family jewels well padded and warm!

See you in hell,
Shakes.