First Inspection

Glenn finally found his mother standing near the swimwear racks, hands on her hips, waiting impatiently. The moment she saw him, she take his pants and boxer from him and put them in her bag, she crouched down in front of him, her eyes narrowing as she inspected the fit of the red speedo.

Before Glenn could react, she pried her fingers under the waistband, tugging at it mercilessly. Then, just as abruptly, she moved to the leg openings, pulling and stretching the elastic without a care.

"Stand still," she scolded when Glenn flinched.

He stood frozen in place, cheeks burning. The worst part came next—her fingers pinched at the front pouch, pulling at the loose fabric.

"You see this?" she said, unimpressed. She gave the pouch another tug for emphasis. "This is too small. You barely fill the pouch."

Glenn gritted his teeth. "I think they fit fine," he muttered. "If anything, they’re too small. I can feel them riding up my—"

"Excuse me," a voice interrupted from behind.

Glenn nearly jumped out of his skin.