My Most Favorite Pair of Jeans

These torn, ripped and quickly heading for the trash are my favorite pair of jeans.  Why?  Because they just fit perfectly.  Tight in all the right places, loose enough to sit and be happy.  These were my go to jeans for years.  Lately every time I  drop them into the laundry basket, I give thought to throwing them away.  I have had them in my hand poised above the trash, but was just unable to let them go.....  They haven't left the house since earlier this summer, that was before the one rip got so large.  Now they are at home jeans.

Today I got the large rip caught on the cupboard handle in the bathroom, and finished blowing out that large rip, so now instead of two rips, it is one giant hole......  Their time is up I'm afraid.

In high school I was a bit of a fashion maverick.  I used sandpaper on my jeans, to make them super soft.  After sanding them, would put them on, and with a razor blade modify them by cutting horizontal lines across the thighs. Then I would sand the cuts to make them fray....  If you are wondering about cutting myself while doing this, yes I did until the trick of how hard to push was learned.  Steep learning curve that one was!  Girl jeans never fit me, too long, were wide in the hip, something I didn't have until I was almost 25.  So, jean shopping was always carried out in the boys department, where jeans are labeled with sense.  Add a pair of high top converse in black and a many size to large long sleeved tee and I was good to go!  Or how about the days I dressed kinda like a girl?  Tights, short skirts, long sweatshirts or tees.  Several of my shirts were almost as long as my skirts, causing some interesting looks let me tell you.

I went thru a period of wearing black nail polish and black lipstick...... Hair in a on purpose fizzy perm, substitute teachers always gave me the eye.  And when I answered the questions or added to the discussion in an intelligent manner, it was obvious they were surprised.  There was no doubt they were judging this book by it's cover.  And the two didn't add up.

You would think dressing like a freak-a-zoid that the boys would avoid me at all costs.  And except for the black lipstick time, and to be honest, there was one guy who really got off on that......  But anyway, because I didn't act silly and could talk about things they were interested in, football, cars, etc., they saw me first as a friend.  And that would sometimes evolve into dating, not always, but sometimes.  I remember one lunch where we got into a kinda heated argument about mufflers.  Glass packs and cherry bombs and oh were we opinionated on which we liked better.  Me?  Oh I was a glass pack fan.  Loved the crackle sound they made.

But honestly, most of these guys were nothing more than friends.  And the better the friend, the less liable I was to date them.  Cause to be honest, dates were cheap, but friends were priceless.  Never falling in love before meeting T.H., I picked up and dropped boys as my fancy wandered to fresher fields, none of them ever really meant much to me.  There were a few, very few but even with them it wasn't even close to love.

And to be brutally honest about myself, if I felt them start to cling, or I thought they might be falling in love with me, they were let go quickly.  I never wanted to give someone that power over me.  I barely had a hold on my self at this time, and was afraid to open up that far, and let anyone in.  Unloved at home, unable to find anything lovable within myself, this was not something I was comfortable opening and examining.  Besides if someone tells you they love you, and then later that day, beats you with a belt until you are bruised and sometimes bleeding, love is not something you are looking for.  It is something to run from.

Learning to love myself is a constant process.  T.H. pried the lid off of my heart, but the boys cut the can into pieces an scattered them far and near.  From being afraid of the perverted love of  my mother showed me, to having a warm and open loving heart, that is honestly overflowing with love.  Once my love bubbled up and that well started to flow, it hasn't slowed at all.  In fact the flow from it has increased day by day, until love is an easy emotion for me to express.  What a long way from a pair of ripped jeans, huh?