I’ve always heard the phrase, ‘Fits like a favourite pair of jeans.’ And by always I mean once or twice before. Or something like that. In referencing something else, maybe. Not important. Anyway, I’d obviously never given it much thought. I mean, yeah, old jeans are great and all, but, come on. Let’s not get carried away. But then tonight, tonight I put on an old pair of jeans. And let me tell you. These jeans fit man. This is one of those meant to be kinda things. Despite putting them on and immediately thrusting my right foot through the gaping hole in the right knee, further gaping it, it was like a reunion. What good times me and these jeans have had! Morocco, Italy, Spain, the Alps… We’ve seen The Guernica together and ridden a camel. Built adobe houses in Mexico and border-raided Tijuana. Hiked the Cote d’Azure and driven to California. Twice. You don’t share those types of bonds with anyone. So why then, you ask, did I abandon these jeans? Why destroy this fruitful relationship so casually? And forsooth, I ask myself the same question. Besides a missing knee, non-existent cuffs, thrice patched legs, and pockets that no longer hold anything, why abandon something so beautiful? And the truth is… I just don’t know.
Answer that question and I’ll buy you the world.
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