I didn't know about reversible underwear

The clues were right under my fingertips, drifting up toward my nose, which, by the way,  should be loaned  out to the FBI or TSA because one snort of this formidable honker draws in a tornado strength of smells, each  instantly recognizable. I'm like an olfactory terminator and I've been told I've got the nose of a bloodhound. Or a truffle smelling pig. Or my grandmother Hayes.

So when the kids came home from their monthly visit at their grandparents spread in New York a few weeks ago, and Teen Boy's suitcase looked remarkably untouched, as if he never unzipped it, I should have known. The undies still in perfect little stacks, the gleaming white socks gripping each others soles.

But sometimes parents can't face the truth, can't stomach the news, can't handle the discovery that their offspring have chosen a different path or perhaps, in the case of  Teen Boy, unclothed a way to save the earth, one knicker at a time.

He recycles his underwear.

This was his dirty little secret.

And to a mother who never wears her jammies twice, brushes her old fangs several times a day, and uses  a paper towel to open the door of a public restroom,  I was in a tailspin.

Okay, I know he's old enough  to be packing on his own, but I enjoy lining up his shirts and knowing that he's got a solid supply of clean sweet smelling t-shirts, boxer briefs and crew socks.neatly folded in  the bowels of his bag. What happens if he slips into the ponds? Or drops a pizza on his lap? Or dribbles milk down his chest? Or the dogs slobber on his jeans? So on the morning of his departure to the great Empire State, I packed his bags. I shoved in a few funky argyle sweaters for a big dinner party that his grandparents were throwing one evening in their honor.

There's no riff raff in that house.

I had to sit on the bulging duffel to close the zipper.

Teen boy picked up his bag and dropped it back on the couch.

"You pack way too much. I'm going for four days. I don't need this stuff."

He peeled back the zipper and started pulling out the underwear.

"I only need one," Teen Boy grunted.

"What? You're going for four days. You need four and a couple of spares," I said.


"Nope. Just need one."

"Don't you change your underwear every day?" I asked.

"I'll  turn them inside out."

"What!?"

No answer.

"What happens if you get skid marks?"

No answer.


"That's disgusting," I said.

Teen Boy tossed out a few pairs of brilliant white socks on the couch.

"Do you wear the same socks, too?" I asked.

"Yep."

Teen Boy doesn't really need luggage. He carries all he needs on his back, like a donkey.

"How can you put dirty clothes on a clean body?"

Teen Boy tossed out three  t-shirts.

"Oh, dear God. You turn your t-shirts inside out, too?"

"Yep." 


Teen Boy completed the luggage purge by tossing out the argyles.

If it hadn't been so early in the day, I might have turned to the liquor cabinet for solace. But instead, I popped down another stale Christmas cookie and wondered where I'd  gone wrong. Hmmm..Isn't cleanliness next to Godliness? But Teen Boy is an atheist so pulling that one over his head wasn't going to work. And I wasn't one of those ultra fussy Mominators  who threw a wobbly when their kid came in with a rice sized stain on his shirt.

Hell, Teen Boy spent most of his early days living like a cave boy- running around the garden in the buff, digging in sand and soil pits, rolling in the mud, covered with leaves and twigs, his face glowing with rivers of freeze pops running down his cheeks, chest and nether regions. Toddler Boy looked like a street urchin for most of his formative years and   I never raised an eyebrow. At the end of the day, I'd simply drop him in the tub, give him a good old scrub and tuck him into a clean pair of jammies.


"You do wear clean underwear when you're here, right? I asked.

"Yep."

I'm not sure if I buy that one. But I know that Teen Boy is not alone. My nephew travels light, too. Just the clothes on his back and the wallet in his pocket.

But sometimes the offspring must learn lessons from their elders. And sometimes justice is only a generation away. I've just heard from Teen Girl that Teen Boy went shopping with their Grandfather last night. Seems like he'll be hyper stylin in a new pair of preppy trousers, loafers and button down shirt at tonight's dinner party.

Hmmm....bet Teen Boy wishes that he hadn't tossed  out that bright white t-shirt and argyle sweater.