Under-where?

So I've reached the end of an arduously long trip to the mall. How a trip to only two stores can be arduous is... oh wait, I have two small children. Anyway, we finally get finished, long overdue for lunch with B, and need only to make a potty pit stop before heading out. We find the bathroom, secure the big stall, locate the Sesame Street potty seat, point out all the different friends we're about to sit on, get our knickers in a bunch, sit on said friends, and pee. Everywhere. They are no longer my friends.

I stay calm as urine runs down the toilet and onto the floor, dangerously close to the stroller which I knew I should have parked farther away, just so that M will not sense that he should panic and stop peeing. It's Elmo's fault, not his. Once finished, I sweep him off the potty and onto dry floor, quickly grabbing toilet seat covers to slow the flood until I can clean up. Time for the most important check, and yes, the underwear is wet. But not the shorts! So I find the spare undies and instruct M to put them on while I clean up.

At last--pee mopped up, toilet flushed, boy dressed. Excellent! I can taste lunch already (if you don't think you could think about food while cleaning up pee, then you aren't my kind of mom). One final check of the stall and we're off for a quick hand wash before heading to the car.

Later, blissfully downing my crispy chicken (and, by the way, Daphne's new crispy chicken is blissful), I start to think. I remember doing a last sweep of the stall. I remember there being nothing left. What I do not remember is what happened to the wet underwear. A sinking feeling begins to spoil my chicken. If I don't have them, they must be in the stall. I must have left urine-soaked little boy underwear on the floor of the bathroom stall. What kind of obnoxious, thoughtless, horrible mother am I? The poor janitorial staff! The poor lost underwear! My poor chicken, no longer enjoyed!

I'm beside myself with irritation, embarrassment, and frustration. I was so close to getting it right. And then, lo and behold, we take our pre-nap potty. There, on the boy: two pairs of underwear, one still slightly damp.

Wait. This really isn't much of an improvement, is it?