Totally not my jeans. Image via Wikipedia
Today I came to the realization that I had to retire one of my favourite pairs of weekend jeans. They had holes in them, but they were comfortable and just something I could wear around the house. I didn’t wear them all summer, because that’s when I wear my shorts around the house on weekends. But today was a little cooler, so it’s time to retire the shorts for this year. Out come the weekend jeans.
Which took me five minutes to shimmy into, and then ten minutes to peel out of.
Niether are these, but they look comfy. Image via Wikipedia
Maybe it’s that aspect of age where certain parts of the human body begin moving south, but I remember my waist being not that big, nor my legs. And I’m not that big to begin with. But today I find out that my trusty weekend jeans are suddenly now a quick trip to torture land. My calves being squeezed so badly that I can’t feel my feet at all, and let’s not forget about the really sensitive area without actually discussing it. Let’s just say that going to the bathroom without making a mess would have been an adventure in itself.
I am suddenly struck with the realization I will have to throw out a pair of jeans (I could give them to goodwill, but even they wouldn’t take them with the condition they are in) and buy new ones. The work jeans I have are slowly becoming weekend jeans, which is okay, I don’t mind that. I’ll have new jeans to look forward to wearing on weekends. Maybe I’ll get a pair of bib coveralls, but that would only mean going to the bathroom would be an equally sad adventure.
Oh well. Looks like I’ll have to make the sacrifice and buy new jeans. At least then I might find some where I can use a belt with.
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