It Was an Electric Razor, But You Probably Can't Tell From There

I'm walking through the skyway with a security person, carrying two arms full of very heavy photog items.  When he asks me, I'm good.  I got it.  But I don't, and I have to stop to readjust. Twice.  Meanwhile, thanks to the smoothing undergarment* I'm wearing, with each step I take, my gray tights are rolling themselves down.  By the third floor, they have crested my over my butt and are making a break for my knee pits.  Like a great glacial avalanche of underoos.  I am so desperate to pull my garments back up that I interrupt the conversation huffing and puffing to say that I see my car right there and thanks so much. When he turns I run the rest of the way to the car--except for the last 30 yards in which I waddle past the parking attendant, my tights down around my ankles: "Hi!  I'm fine!  Good thing I shaved."  

*One of those "Assets" type items.  I know: HOTTTT. I thought it was Hanes, now I don't know for sure, but check out this awesome typo I found while sleuthing!