What is it about humans and their Stuff? Why (and how) do we form familiar, dare I say intimate, relationships with random crap that does not – and never shall – return our feelings?
It was awfully hard for me to put those jeans in the Value Village Pile.
We’d been together about 5 years. They loyally accentuated my ass at the bar, faithfully relinquished stains of every sort, and kindly served up just the right in-between fitted/straight leg to act as my segue-to-skinny-jeans jeans.
They wore through at the inner thigh about a year ago (you know the spot, ladies). I kept wearing them because I love them and, lets face it, if you’re looking that closely at the spot just below the zipper, you deserve to see whatever you see.
Then, a few weeks ago on a Value Village perusal, I found the exact same pair of jeans – minus the rip. Despite the keen sense I was committing the worst kind of denim adultery, I was ecstatic. And when I got home, naturally, I pulled out the old, ever-devoted pair and added them to The Pile – a stack of disused t-shirts and another pair of jeans for which I never developed quite the same level of affection.
All this carried out in a quick burst of altruistic fervor (let’s just say), I stepped away. Then paused, looked back.
I knelt before the neatly folded mound, lovingly stroked the worn denim, ran my fingers along the frayed seams, gazed with respect upon the loops that so faithfully held my nylon belt with nary a tear or loose thread.
I sighed. How could I abandon this precious time capsule? This glowing example of selfless friendship with which I’d been through so much, now so distressed. Am I a monster?
I must be. Blame it on lack of space in the jean drawer, or a general fear of commitment, but my sweet, beautiful jeans – the ones with just the right amount of fade in the most flattering places – remain atop a stack of abandoned wares that just didn’t make the cut for my tears of loss.
Fare thee well, 6 Long American Eagle Super Stretch. You were loved, you will be missed.