Jeans

I picked up my newly torn jeans. I am so sad. They are, or should I say were my favourite pair of jeans EVER. No alterations. They actually fit properly. My ass didn't look king kong in size. I didn't have to hem them. I loved the colour. An extra reason why I loved them was because I got them on my trip to Chicago to see Oprah. Extra special memories.

Buying anything in my size and height is nearly impossible. Everything looks stupid. That's why I like schleppy clothes. Anyways, I digress.

Back to my jeans. Can you believe they ripped at work? I happened to be sitting down and I felt a draft. Didn't hear a sound or anything so it must have been earlier in the day. When I looked down, I noticed that I had a nice big tear where my crotch is. Professional eh? So, I had to spend the remainder of the day taking tiny geisha steps to get anywhere. I was hoping that if I didn't stretch out, no one would notice my underwear or my big tear. I got home ok, no one seemed to notice. Or if they did, they were nice enough not to embarass me more.

But as I look at my torn jeans, I can barely make myself throw them away. I'm not sure why. It's not like I can resucitate them back to life. But I can hope.