Ambiguous Droplets
The droplets look dangerously ambiguous and far too close to the zipper to be considered "accidental."
I can't seem to do it. I can never wash my hands in public restrooms without unintentionally hazarding at least a few droplets of water onto the front of my pants just before I exit the bathroom. There always follows the contemplative pause as I realize, looking in the mirror at the reflection of my newly bespeckled pleats, that the droplets look dangerously ambiguous and far too close to the zipper to be considered "accidental." For a frantic and unreasonable moment I try to convince myself that there is some way that I can cover them up, dry them out, and/or generally make them disappear somehow in the few seconds before I leave the bathroom to return to whatever it is I was doing. Of course, the realization that such things simply cannot be done without the aid of special, high-tech devices (like, say, a hair-dryer - which makes far too much noise to be considered a viable option) eventually creeps out of the nether regions of logical thought and drags with it the panic that was momentarily subdued by fantasy back into the forefront of my mind.
At some point (this is generally about 30 seconds after the realization is first made) I resolve that I can probably make it to wherever it is I'm going without anyone noticing and bemusing ill thoughts of my presumably poor bathroom etiquette, and proceed to make a brave, if hasty, dash back to where I was going before the urge seized me in the first place.
I'm beginning to think my hand-washing techniques need revision.