A Tale of Woe

So, there's a story that D thinks I should tell. Because I love her, I'm willing to, but it means that very soon I'll have to find a quiet place to die from embarrassment.
Okay, so we ran out of toilet paper (not the crux of the story). Since I had the day off after this happened, it became my task and I accepted it freely to go to the store and pick up more. A simple enough assignment, but apparently fraught with unexpected risks.
Everything seemed to be going smoothly. I got up, played a bit of WOW, then showered, shaved, and quickly threw on some clothes and I was out the door. I strode leisurely down the street to Sobey's, stopped at the Tim Horton's to partake of the Ichor of the Black God, and then successfully managed to purchase not only toilet paper at Sobey's but also some brand spanking new razor blades, which apparently are made of gold given how much they cost.
I get home. I take off my coat, take off my keys, put my money on the baker's rack. I even strip off my shirt because my apartment against all laws of thermodynamics is boiling hot.
I turn around and see myself in the hall mirror.
Something's hanging off my butt.
To explain, the pants I was wearing that day have back pockets that do up with velcro. Velcro, as we all know, likes to grab and hold fabrics.
I walked to the store with a pair of D's baby blue lacey underwear hanging off my butt. I stopped at Tim Horton's with underwear on my ass. I bought toilet paper not knowing that I was walking around like a flag carrier in a game of CTF, only my flag was blue and practically see through.
I nearly had a heart attack right there, in the kitchen. D would have come home and found me dead in her kitchen, apparently trying to wear her underwear on the outside of my pants.
I'm seriously considering burning the pants.