When I walked through the doors of the western store, I made a beeline for the Ladies Jeans department. It was there that we first met. I saw you in the corner of my eye, and pulled you off the rack. It was instant attraction. You were low rise, extra long, boot cut, and you were "Cruel Girl" brand. My heart fluttered, but it was too early to know if it was "love". I had to try you on.
After slipping you on in the dressing room, I knew that we were MFEO (made for each other). You hugged me in all the right places, you covered my flaws, and you looked amazing with my light tan cowboy boots. Even though I'd birthed three kids, you did not make me feel like I was wearing "Mom Jeans". I had to own you, whatever the cost.
This began our serious relationship.
You were the first pair of jeans I'd wear out of the closet every week.
My days were brighter when you were on.
Through the years you began to fade, but I didn't mind. You were softer then.
Over time, the heaviness of my bling belt frayed your belt loops.
Then, there was the unfortunate day that I snagged your pocket with my fencing tool. With each washing, your pocket began to unravel more and more. I didn't worry, though. It just added character.
After several years, your fabric began to thin out, and you tore in the knee. That's when you transitioned into my favorite "work" pants. No more date nights, no more parties, no more lunch with friends. You and I worked cows together. We fixed fence. We split firewood. We were a team.
Your hemline began to fray with your exposure to dirt and manure, but you still stacked nicely over my boots and didn't raise up in the stirrups or when climbing through corral pipes. You remained the perfect length.
Rest in peace, my favorite jeans. I will never forget you.
With all my love,