Mission Unmentionables: the party that was

Now, figuratively speaking, things happen. Strange things happen. Especially when parents attend birthday parties of young children. On their own, without backup. Anything can happen.

Try this scenario (which bears no resemblance to any person here present or un-present). Hero father takes small children to said birthday party. A swimming party in springtime. Think a little sunshine, a chilly south-easter, bucketfuls of sweets and fizzers and suckers and suchlike. Hordes of siblings, cousins and schoolkids. All the men (bar one) inside interacting with the rugby, offering insults and praise alike, screaming and hooting. Typical rugby scene. Pass the parcel and party games outside...

Back to that pool: the icy water had a small boy levitating backward, before immersing himself with gusto after some due consideration. The small girl leapt in onto the steps, then got more and more adventurous with her leaps. One epic jump had her skidding off the step and submerging with a look of total shock in her blue, blue eyes and now straight curly hair. Hero father saves the day and small child by leaping in.

(A small stir at the party, quickly overlooked in the light of the rugby that prevailed - though he did get dry clothes to wear while his were tumbled dry).

The party continued. The kids screamed. The men did too. All was chaos. There were too many kids. Lots of kids. Small boys hurtling around. Water everywhere. Sugar overloaded highs. Mothers seeking sustenance to survive. You get the picture. It lasted just under 3 hours...

And after ensuring that small children did not fall over themselves on a total sugar high, hero father thanked the hosts and received his now dried clothing. Sans one small item. His underwear.

Now, the house was large. The dogs confined to some unknown place. Not wishing to "drawer" attention to himself by requesting his, er, jocks, a stealth mission became of first importance into the innards of the mansion (and yes, it was large, multi-level, and the deep woofing got louder).

The foray was continued nontheless, and after several hair-raising moments and near-discoveries, hero father cautiously opened a door in the basement level, revealing, to his great relief, not the dogs, but the drier. A quick scoop of the hand... nothing. A frantic search of the room... nothing. A desperate delve into the drier again... nothing. Starting to sweat, hero father thinking of his unsupervised small offspring, pushed a wishful hand into the washer. Should he abandon the privates, or pursue them? Nothing would prevail on him to request the hostess to seek them out herself...

Ah... Success!

Now to graciously exit the innards, avoid the killer guard dogs, farewell the hosts again, locate and extract the sugared offspring who no-doubt made the most of their liberty and head for the hills (all with damp dripping - please keep them invisible! - unmentionables in hand).

The vehicle returned to home base with two exuberant kids, a freshly dried father and a sopping handful of surreptitious cloth...