I come before you today with sad news and a heavy heart.
My pants are at the end of their long and valuable life. They’re as dear to me as any cherished friend and I’ll miss them desperately. Over the years they’ve become essential to my well-being, as soft and comforting as flannel. They’re irreplaceable.
Literally. Levi’s discontinued the 512s years ago, so I’m screwed. Oh, I have a couple pairs left, as back-ups, but they aren’t the same. They’re stiffer and heavier, bluer, not even close to threadbare. Once Levi’s start to fray and unravel and fade, you fall hopelessly and helplessly in love. All the time and effort spent breaking them in finally pays off and you become one with your pants.
It’s the same with socks, although they don’t last as long as Levi’s. You get attached to them, of course, but the goodbyes aren’t as wrenching. Few things are, really. Hug your pants while you have them, let them know you care.
copyright © 2016 the whirly girl
Please note: I resisted using the phrase ‘last legs.’ You’re welcome.