When I woke up something was not right.  My butt pockets were flat.  It wasn’t in the front ones either.  “My wallet is missing” I said, “oh shit,” and patted all around the different pockets.  My friends were still sleeping.

“My wallet is missing,” I said again.  “Has anyone seen it?”  Eric was now staring at the corner, as though remembering an intricate formula.

I said “shit” a couple more times.  My pants were fitting very loose.  I must have lost some weight or something.  Also my pockets weren’t in the right places.  That’s because my pants were on backwards.

“My pants are on backwards,” I said.  Then I got up and looked in a mirror.  “Those aren’t my pants at all.”

“Are you sure?” asked Eric.  He had remembered the formula in its entirety, written it down, and turned in his paper.

“These aren’t my underpants either.”

“Are you sure?” Eric asked again.

“I’ve never seen them before.”

Clifton was also looking in a mirror, wearing my pants.  “Is there anything else?” asked Clifton, staring through the mirror, constrained.

“No,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

Clifton was wearing my pants.  “Are these your pants?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Check and see,” he said, “if there’s anything else.”

But there was nothing else for me.  “You can keep those underpants,” he said, and I kept them and might have them still.