Because my thighs no longer rub together, my shorts no longer ride up into my crotch, requiring the fake "stop-mid-stride-and-turn-to-look-behind-you-while-lifting-your-butt-and-spreading-your-legs-to-allow-your-shorts-to-fall-back-down-where-they-belong" move.
Nor must I attempt to conceal the "trying-to-be-discreet" tug.
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