Is that a breeze or…

The other day I ripped my favorite skinny jeans in a very (cough) private place. My “danger zone” as Stewart from MadTV called it.

Let me set the scene…

INT. Kitchen. Group of people laughing around non-descript brunette with AWESOME jeans...and I’m bored.

OK, I’m a total ham and an opportunity presented itself for me to make others laugh and I was on it like white on rice. I was doing an impersonation of my old, bladder-control-less dog trying to pee on the floor, frantically spinning in circles. Looking back, I had realized that all the activity might be a little more than my pants could withstand but I had already committed to it!! There was no turning back.

So there I was, already looking like an idiot, running around on my hands and knees, spinning around and around, and I got to the most important part, the lifting of the leg, and ::LOUD RIPPING SOUND::

I’m cold.

Luckily, I was amongst friends so it became extremely hilarious, but secretly I was crying inside, imagining my pants with angel wings, flying up to heaven and spurning me for abusing them so.

The worst part of it is, I am not dealing with my loss very well. I’m beginning to resemble an old cat lady who keeps her departed pet in a shoe box for weeks before coming to terms with the fact that it’s dead, or as I like to call this woman, every Home Ec. teacher I’ve ever had. I’m resembling her in that I am still wearing the pants. I wore them to the movies, out to dinner, on a walk, and… I’m even wearing them right now…

But why shouldn’t I where them?! People spend money, money they could have a better use for on drugs, buying pre-ripped jeans. Why are some ripped jeans more appropriately ripped than others? Is there a degree in design (I use the word ‘degree’ very lightly…it’s fashion school, come on…) necessary for properly ripping jeans? Do they need to be taken to a mountain top in Greece where a Denim whisperer rips them after saying a prayer and putting holy oils on them?

Isn’t better to pay homage to an excellent part of slimming, ass-perfecting jeans that have been your faithful friend for longer than you’d like to admit?

This was an accident...

Hey there big boy, I'm cool

The whole point of ripped jeans should be to make a cool style out of something that you would normally have to thrown away. To make lemonade, as they say. Not to purposely look like a really bad stripper who can’t make enough dough shaking her money-maker to cover all of her legs with fabric. There are much better ways to look like a stripper. Why not look like a well-paid one to begin with!? One who can afford to wear fine pleather booty shorts and leopard-print, sequined booby-tassels? Exactly.

So I’m going to keep wearing those jeans and embrace the fact that I got for free what many velour wearing teens spend their lunch money on. And to embrace the fact that I’m a spaz! And because my jeans loved my ass all these years and they deserve to be loved back!

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