The Jeans

My jeans died today. They were the perfect pair of jeans, grey skinny cut, and they didn't make me look like a beached whale or like I stuffed too much meat in a sausage casing. I will truly miss them. I sent this email in mourning:

Dear Old Navy,

I regret to inform you the time has come to say farewell. We all know it happens, and most of us don’t expect it. Today was that day for me, and I must tell you- I was devastated. It is was the end of my favorite jeans. The first stage is denial, and it is true, when the zipper seized at the half way mark- I couldn’t believe it. There I was alone, thinking to myself “No no this isn’t happening, it’s not really stuck, there must be some other problem.” I yanked I pulled, and nothing happened. Then the second stage came in a rush “Come on you stupid pants, move your stupid zipper or else!” Realizing threats weren’t working I went on to the third stage of bargaining, “Please move, please, I swear I’ll give you a day off more often, I will wear you with that shirt you like, please please just move!!!” Then there was depression, which I must admit there is still a twinge of this. Finally acceptance came, when I realized there is nothing I can do, my favorite jeans that fit just right, in the perfect color, are gone. They are no more. Now I just have to live with the fact that my jeans are no more, the perfect pair of pants is gone, you made them and I thank you, and now we mourn then search for a new pair- hopefully we can find them together.