We Don't Need No Stinking Pants

I got caught with my pants down.

At a party last night, someone spilled a drink all over my lap. Drenched in alcoholic stickiness, I was forced to take the pants off. When it came time to make the walk back to my apartment, I found that my pants were still far too sopping wet to put back on, so I made the decision to make the trek back in my boxers. Skipping merrily along the unoccupied sidewalk, I managed to make it almost all the way home unhindered when I saw the security watchperson approaching. Afraid, I sprinted the remainder of the way to my door and shut myself inside.

That makes it two days in a row that I've been forced to flee from confrontation in an effort to avoid having wet pants.