PantsGate

Today I took Humphrey to the Dentist. After 20 rounds of tooth brushing (because he kept forgetting that he had brushed his gnashers mere minutes earlier) we were running a little late.
Whilst hurrying Humphrey across the car park he uttered an, “Oh, Damn!” and stopped dead in his tracks. Fearing the worst I followed his gaze down to his shoes. Peeping out of the side of his trouser leg was a pair of his gigantic greying Y-fronts. Not just any Y-fronts but a dirty pair complete with a violently visible skid mark down the back. Humphrey quickly snaffled them up and put them in his coat pocket:

Me: [Scanning car park for witnesses to Pantsgate] Humphrey are those your underpants?

Humphrey: [Tee-hee] Yes it appears they are.

Me: [Face a vision of pure bewilderment] But you are wearing underpants?

Humphrey: [Still giggling] Yes. [Chortle-snort]

Me: So wheeeere? Did those come from?

Humphrey: I don’t know they must have been in my trousers.

Me: And you didn’t feel them in your trousers? [Scanning said trousers for other abnormalities]

Humphrey: Well, not till they wiggled out.

Completely bamboozled by the appearance of the mysterious unmentionables I then had the horrendous task of retrieving them from Humphrey’s coat pocket, because who knows what he might do with them in the dentist, probably wipe his nose on them brandishing the skidder for all to see. Of course as we were already running late for the tooth mechanic I had no choice but to stash the giant soiled man pants IN MY HANDBAG.

Both the bag and I mentally scarred now.