My Dilemma

Ok, so I am grieving.

My favourite pair of jeans ripped tonight. Right below my right butt cheek. They're ruined. I'm so sad. How could I have not seen this happening? They were getting so soft because of the wear that they had on them. Those faded parts were battlescars that were true until the very end. They're not even salvageable. You know, like if you accidentally rip your pants, you turn them into shorts, or capris. Not these ones. They'll be retired, and hopefully be inducted posthumously into the Denim Hall of Fame, right next to Enrique's dark stone-washed flares.

WHY??!?! Why didn't I take better care of those jeans? I mean, did I really have to sit on them so much? maybe if I had given up my seat to some old guy and stood instead of being lazy, this never would have happened....

Oh, blue denim painter jeans.... this incident reminds me of a certain song by Fastball that encompasses my monumental feelings of remorse. It goes a little like this:

Was I out of my head? was I out of my mind?
How could I have ever been so blind?
I was waiting for an indication
It was hard to find
Don’t matter what I say only what I do
I never mean to do bad things to you
So quiet but I finally woke up
If you’re sad then it’s time you spoke up too

You definitely spoke up tonight. I heard it loud and clear. But did it really have to get so bad? You could have said something over the nice dinner we had before this nasty ordeal, or when we went on that romantic walk down the back alley behind the school. Why does it have to end like this?

WHY?!?!?!?!?!?!?!???!?!?!?

I love you, blue denim painter jeans. I'll always remember you, and no jeans will ever be as loyal to me as you have been. But I must move on.... *single tear*