Dear Blue Skinny Jeans,
First of all, thank you for a great year and a half. Although I think I've only featured you three times on this blog, I've worn you a lot, in at least three different countries. I first bought you a year and a half ago, to replace my first pair of black skinny jeans that were developing a suspicious hole between the pocket and waistband, and by God were you there for me: I took you to Greece a couple of times, I took you to Germany, I wore you through Crete, I took you back to Germany and wore you to Greece one more time. And that's just for travelling. I've worn you countless times at home - you're my default jeans, the only actual solid blue jeans I have that live with me. You've gone up and down with my weight fluctuations and, due to your wonderful stretchy quality, I didn't even notice those fluctuations until I tried wearing other pants. You tucked into boots well - all boots - and you look good with flats. A little dorky with Birkenstocks, but then again...who doesn't?
But now? Oh, Jeans, the time has come: you're doing that thing some jeans do where you wear away at the inner thigh. It's not really noticeable yet, but it will be, soon, and that's why I think it's time for us to say good-bye to each other.
May I add, Jeans? What's up with wearing away after a measly year and a half?! Are you trying to tell me that my thighs are massive? Because, thanks. I got it. I've known myself for almost twenty-nine years, Jeans. (Also? Most of that is muscle. Asshole.) Seriously, though. SERIOUSLY! A year and a half! Oh, don't try to tell me that "all jeans do this:" bullshit. I've owned a lot of jeans in my time, and yeah, after some time most of them wear away in the inner thigh - I do have broad, muscular legs, and there's chafing, and I know this happens: it's happened to almost all my jeans, all my corduroy pants, even some other pants. BUT NOT AFTER SUCH A SHORT TIME. I mean, come on, Jeans! I bought pants at age fifteen that started doing that my freshman year of college - that's three years of hard use (after at least twenty years of existence because they were vintage)! I've owned other jeans that I wear constantly for over three years and they're fine. They're not even stretchy, but they're fine.
No, no. You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just frustrated because I'm mad that you're leaving. I'm mad that I've owned you and you've been so great for me in a pinch and ... we just don't have any more time together. It hurts, Jeans. It hurts.
So, thanks. Thanks for keeping me comfy and somewhat trendy for a little over a year. And I hope you forgive me for leaving you crumpled up in the bedroom until I get rid of you.
Chalkdust and Boots