Friends, we are gathered here today to say goodbye to my favorite pair of jeans.
They were my favorite pair of jeans because they were perfectly broken in. They always fit just right, even out of the wash. I know, that seems impossible, but that is what made these jeans so special. They were magical.
Me and my jeans in happier times. Also pictured: the rest of my family.
As any woman knows, when you have a pair of great jeans, you wear them as often as is socially acceptable. Or if you’re like me and you don’t care about such things, daily. Because they are the perfect jeans, social constructs be damned! Of course, that meant that the jeans went through greater than average wear-and-tear. The small frayed spot above the knee grew into a full-fledged hole. I didn’t care. That made them more authentic. Still, considering how often I wore them, they were in great shape.
But I forgot about my thighs.
Like the majority of the non-supermodel population, my thighs rub together when I walk. The only time in my life my thighs didn’t rub together was when I was a baby, and that was only because my diaper made me bow-legged.
I managed to remain blissfully unaware of the damage my thighs had wrought until a few days ago, when Annabel said to me, “Mom! I can see your underwear!” When I asked her where, she pointed between my legs. And that was when I saw it:
Just to put the size of that hole on the left into perspective, my gynecologist wouldn’t need me to take off my jeans at my next appointment.
At first I was in denial. I tried wearing them again and oh-so-casually mentioned the hole to Mike. He glanced down and said, “Yeah, you need to retire those jeans. Have you been wearing them to Annie’s school like that?” Uh.
Obviously, I’ve been simultaneously mourning the loss of my jeans while googling to find a patch big enough to conceal the damage. When I am a famous jeans designer, my jeans will have reinforced thighs. Why is this not already a thing?
So thank you, dear jeans, for your years of service. I would make a montage of our time together but apparently there is only one picture of me wearing you because I am always behind the camera. But we had some good times together. RIP ripped jeans.