Man-training Has to Start Young....

The day loomed large in the diary. The date, as it it got nearer, seemed to vibrate with significance in a small household in Buckingham. And in particular, caused trepidation in the heart of its youngest member. (Discounting the dog who, if such matters interest you, wasn't bothered in the slightest.) This was the week when eight-year-old Joseph would go on an outward bound activity camp with his year group for three days and two nights.
Well, the chap was nervous. His mother was also nervous, but masked her anxiety by buying him new wet-weather gear, new underpants that bore no trace of SpiderMan (so un-cool now) and new wellies. The bag was packed, stuffed full, and the intrepid young man set off on Monday morning without so much as a kiss goodbye, or a backward glance. The same child who had assured his mother, the night before, that he was "Way beyond nervous," and on the morning of departure that he "wouldn't mind too much" if he was late and missed the bus.
The weather, the next two days, was atrocious, but we all knew he had ample changes of clothing.
He returned yesterday afternoon, in one piece, lugging his small suitcase and saying that he didn't fancy doing it again next year, thanks very much.
Gradually, fortified by food and drink he began to reveal more positive aspects of his mini-adventure, and his mother was relieved that it hadn't been a complete disaster. She steeled herself to open the suitcase which she fondly imagined would be stuffed with disgustingly muddy clothes. Instead of which, under a towel she found everything pristine. Suspiciously, in the manner that  she had packed herself.
"Joseph," she called, "Are you wearing the same pants that you wore on Monday?"
He answered ruefully, "'Fraid so.."
"And your socks?"
"I towel-dried them each night. I couldn't find any of my stuff..."
It had been astonishingly invisible under the towel. Oh Lord. Oh my dear Lord. When I heard that, I wasn't so worried about his wonging underwear. No, not at all. It was perfectly obvious that this was an inherited trait. From his grandfather. Sorry, let me be clear, in case you think my Dearest husband has a weakness for re-cycled underwear. It has taken him years to understand that you look under and behind when doing a search. He is so much better than he used to be. However, as for Buckingham...
Early training must start at once.

Dearest, after 38 years of training now searches under the top layer