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Apr. 28th, 2005
A little ceremony
Apr. 28th, 2005 01:08 pmToday, I officially say goodbye to my favorite pair of jeans. They've had a good life, but it's time. I've worn them so much that, for months now, there have been holes (tiny ones, but holes nonetheless) at the tops of the back pockets. So I've had to be very careful about making sure that the shirts I wore with them adequately covered those holes. Well, the other day, I put my hand in one of the pockets and made the holes significantly less tiny. The pants are finished; may they rest in pieces.
Such ceremony may seem unnecessary, but these pants and I - we've had times. They've been many places:
They're the only jeans that were nice enough (i.e., not stained with paint, primer, or coffee) that I could actually get away with wearing them to teach in (ah, the joys of working at a college).
They're the jeans that were the perfect length - I could wear them with flip-flops without them dragging the ground and getting scruffy at the hem.
These are the jeans that I was wearing when my mom (aka, Eagle Eye) actually said, "You're losing weight." This is from the woman who would never, ever say anything negative about my weight. Oh, no. Instead, she sighs loudly whenever I take a bigger helping of something than she thinks I should. She buys me huge sweaters for Christmas and calls them "roomy." She offers her old size 20 pants to me when I mention that shopping for work clothes is on the to-do list (for the record, I have never in my life been a size 20, and Eagle Eye knows that. That's just her cute way of showing me my future if I don't mend the error of my ways). Now, before you scold me with your "she's only trying to help/not hurt your feelings" - I know that, and I appreciate the thought. But I'm one of those rare individuals who actually prefer the direct, rational *cough*adult*cough* approach to confrontation. It won't break me. If you have something to say to me, just say it. Don't leave pamphlets on my dresser about heart disease and diabetes, with the part about how excess weight can both trigger and aggravate these conditions highlighted. /rant
Anyway...goodbye, dear pants. *moment of silence*
Such ceremony may seem unnecessary, but these pants and I - we've had times. They've been many places:
They're the only jeans that were nice enough (i.e., not stained with paint, primer, or coffee) that I could actually get away with wearing them to teach in (ah, the joys of working at a college).
They're the jeans that were the perfect length - I could wear them with flip-flops without them dragging the ground and getting scruffy at the hem.
These are the jeans that I was wearing when my mom (aka, Eagle Eye) actually said, "You're losing weight." This is from the woman who would never, ever say anything negative about my weight. Oh, no. Instead, she sighs loudly whenever I take a bigger helping of something than she thinks I should. She buys me huge sweaters for Christmas and calls them "roomy." She offers her old size 20 pants to me when I mention that shopping for work clothes is on the to-do list (for the record, I have never in my life been a size 20, and Eagle Eye knows that. That's just her cute way of showing me my future if I don't mend the error of my ways). Now, before you scold me with your "she's only trying to help/not hurt your feelings" - I know that, and I appreciate the thought. But I'm one of those rare individuals who actually prefer the direct, rational *cough*adult*cough* approach to confrontation. It won't break me. If you have something to say to me, just say it. Don't leave pamphlets on my dresser about heart disease and diabetes, with the part about how excess weight can both trigger and aggravate these conditions highlighted. /rant
Anyway...goodbye, dear pants. *moment of silence*