I think everyone has their favorite article of clothing. For me, it is an old pair of jeans. They were my favorite jeans six years ago when I bought them new. They fit just right, were not too short which is hard for me to find, and they just looked GOOD! As time progressed, these jeans faded which made them even better and they softened with age.
I think that's sort of what happens to us only over a longer span of time. These jeans slowly transitioned from being my "dress" jeans to my "casual day" jeans to my "farm" jeans and finally to my "only wear these if no one is around" jeans yet still, they were my favorite. Those jeans would stretch when I needed them too (after a big meal, holidays, just about everyday of the year recently) yet they still felt snug and soft and...yes...comforting.
About six months ago, those jeans and I were assisting husband with loading hay in the field when I felt a slight...o.k...more than slight draft. Yes, one side ripped from seam to seam across the back. So...they looked like they were transitioning into Daisy Dukes only a bit shorter. This happened about five minutes before our new neighbors showed up who I had never met before. Of course, I had my back to them bending over picking up a bale of hay as they pulled up. When I turned around and husband motioned for me to come meet them, I TRIED to stand at the correct angle, but I fear the glare from the ...em...skin on the backs of my legs was quite disturbing to them.
Fortunately, as I chewed husband out for "exposing" me to such humiliation he explained that since they reeked of sweat and hay from working their own take of the field, we were even and no one could really tell the story without exposure themselves.
Still I clung to the old blues! I just could not sacrifice them. With the new ventilation, I found they were great for the evening walks provided I stay to the back forty out of sight of neighbors and passers by. They've probably gone another 10 or 12 miles with me since the original unraveling and never seemed to complain.
Unfortunately, around Thanksgiving as I was heading for my walk, my special girl Diamond decided to ask me a question. When Diamond asked a question, she would simply take her massive paw and place it on my knee and begin to pull - even the best of pants suffered as she didn't realize her own strength. So, I speculate Diamond was about to ask which route we were taking when she reached for me. She didn't know the jeans meant the back route, she didn't know the jeans were on their "last legs" and she didn't know her own strength. Sadly, I have to announce, the jeans gave in to the pressure.
Yes people, they caved, gone from the pockets down. The bottom part simply fell away from the top part...down....down...down they went. At first I thought I could fake it - I could use safety pins and a needle and thread and tack them back together but they just kept disintegrating in my hands as I feverishly worked on them telling them I would not let them go without a fight.
Finally, the voice of reason - husband - spoke up and simply said "honey, they are gone! You have to let them go! And I WILL disown you if you see you in them ANYMORE!" This was the end! So, today when I went to feed in the wee hours of the morning, I donned my favorite khakis. Oh to hope they are as faithful as Old Blues was.
Something about Old Blues reminded me of life. We fade, we wrinkle, we even fall apart at times. When it's over, someone disposes of us as they move on to new friends and family. But, if we get it right, if we are made of the right cloth, with the right styling and the right mixture of loyalty and strength, we will never be forgotten.
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