Today, I invite you to join with me in saying a sentimental goodbye to my beloved pair of jeans who finally became way too hole-y to wear in public or around my children.
You were the best.
I remember the first day you came into my life. You were too long. You were hand-me-downs. You were a little too tight for my muffin top. But you know? There was just something about your stubborn characteristics that I loved from the get-go. I knew we’d do well together.
There was something about the way you came into my life – suddenly, and cheaply – (For free, even!) that gave me permission to cut you to size. I lopped you off at exactly 29″ with nary a care in the world. Your frayed hem gave us character, and we were proud. We were boho.
Your willingness to let me just be who I was, to not care, to mold you into who I needed you to be? Well, that just made us a rock-solid duo. Your stubbornness waned, and you became so selfless – giving me just the fit I needed without a single thread of resistance.
We did everything together. Probably too much, in fact. I’m not sure you were the best choice for the Honor Roll Awards ceremony at the kids’ school. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t have worn you out to lunch at that 4-star restaurant, but I just loved you so much I didn’t care what people thought. Certainly not enough to leave you behind.
I wore you in the summer and the winter. In fact, I wore you in negative 5 degrees F. I just layered underneath and let my thermal leggings show through. That was super cool and ultra stylish.
I’ve never been a fashionista, but with all these hole-y jeans trending? You and me baby – we were top-notch.
But my dear, sweet Jeans, I think I was a little too hard on you. Your knees split open to gaping proportions. Both of them. And our thighs started to wear through. The thighs! (Dear Reader – have you ever worn through the THIGHS of your jeans??) I thought this might still be passible as apropos because, we do in fact, live in Miami. But. . . .
Then the fanny started to wear through. And though all this thin material felt heavenly in our high and humid temperatures, and I so appreciated your willingness to accommodate, I questioned whether I should still be wearing you out and about. Thus, I relegated you to “painting attire” only.
Well, just because I paint doesn’t mean I never needed to go out. I still needed to make a quick run to get milk, or go pick up the kids, and it was only going to be quick, so why should I have changed? So I didn’t. Of course I took you with me.
Then, the other day, my butt ripped clean through. Fanny hanging out. Sweet Mother of Pearl, I’m glad we were in the privacy of our own home.
I just want you to know this, Dear Jeans: we did so much together. We loved, hugged, scolded, shopped, dropped, cooked, and cleaned. We held babies together, we taught kiddos how to ride bikes, we re-learned our times tables for the fourth time together. We’ve been through the most of tragic traumas and the greatest of joys together. We’ve even been through a 10 lb weight swing over the years.
You’ve been dear and good jeans to me. You’ve been a steady and strong force in my life.
I wish that you could have stayed around longer.
I wish you could have met my grandchildren right along with me. Oh! The stories we could have told. . . .
But alas, it’s time for us to say goodbye. There is something so disconcerting about discarding you in the trash bin. I’ve wondered if I could transform you into a purse, or perhaps a snuggie. But no. Your threads are too thin. This is the end of the road for us.
It’s OK. I forgive you for moving on. You were so, so good to me, and I know I’ll never, ever, find another pair of jeans like you. Ever.
And I just want you to know: I loved you like no other article of clothing I’ve ever worn or will ever lay hands on again, and I’ll always have a precious little spot carved out in my heart for you.
So long, sweet friend.