So I turn 40, and my Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants jeans die. Should I be concerned? Do you think there was any significance to the fact that the ass ripped out of them? Go ahead and laugh. The truth of the matter is that they are ancient. I’ve had them since I first starting teaching and no, we are not talking about how many decades ago that was. I’m still recovering from all the 40-year-old jokes!
Bottom line: they were my traveling pants jeans because no matter what I weighed – heavy or not so much, they fit….sometimes with multiple layers underneath. They’ve been through bikini seasons. They’ve been through sittings of cookie-dough eating. They’ve been through cattle washings and Ryan’s Family Steakhouse buffets. They were my cattle jeans – the ones that I wore to help my dad on the farm or wore to a cattle show when I didn’t want to ruin “my good jeans” which translates to “jeans I can wear to school because they don’t have shit stains on them.”
I had noted to my husband that they were threadbare and it was only a matter of time, but I didn’t mean it. I’d said the words but hadn’t really allowed myself the emotions of their demise. Okay, so maybe it’s not that traumatic, but it is a sad day in the neighborhood. I mean – which jeans will become my new “farm” jeans? Which ones will get called up from the bullpen, so to speak? Lol. Which ones will I turn to when I’m feeling fat and need my reliable go-tos? Which ones will last longer than all the Kardashian marriages combined? Which ones will be my comfy “I’ve-eaten-one-too-many-corndogs-at-the-State-Fair jeans? These are the burning first-world questions I have on my mind. But you get it, right?
You have that one pair of jeans you love, or a pair of pj pants that soothe your need to kill someone, the jersey that makes you feel like you’re in high school again, or the dreaded “funeral” dress that you know you look appropriate in, right? And you know that inanimate objects are still things we get sad over, right? I find that lots of people end up being emotional over a pair of jeans or a random squirrel they hit on the road. Why? Well, in my non-expert, but still kinda-an-expert opinion, we allow ourselves to let out those emotions about those things instead of the big things that we suppress because we have to be the strong ones in times of seriously traumatic events. So am I mourning my jeans? Maybe. Am I mourning my youth? Maybe. But in this case, it’s really the jeans. I promise. Lol.
But should you need to cry over your teddy bear or your ass-ripped jeans, I’ll be here for ya. That’s what I do.
So anybody got lucky socks or Sisterhood jeans? Anybody willing to admit they’ve been known to cry over selling their car or another inanimate object? Fess up. I need some confirmation I’m not the only Sentimental Sally/Sam in the world today.