Ode to Blue Jeans R~Brabham

I believe I heard taps playing this morning as they left my fingertips to go to that old dumpster in the sky. My favorite jeans just died. Actually this is the second pair in 6 months to go. They gave up the ghost...gone...vamoose. The belt loops had pulled off years ago and the bottoms were frayed, reminiscent of my 70's jeans. They were perfectly faded in all the right spots. Crisp and form fitting, not saggy. There was that one peephole on the back at the bottom of the pocket, I always forgot it was there until poked and reminded by a friend that I had my lime green drawers on. For some reason my favorite jeans decided today was the day. I was assuaged by guilt. Was it that Hershey Bar? If only they had split on a seam, I would lovingly mend them. But noooo, a big L shaped rip, right in the middle of the leg. I frantically searched my stack of jeans to find their successor. After, tugging, squatting, mirror parading, butt checking, laying down to zip up and a few potty words, I was exhausted. I’ve got the ~Blues~ for sure. I kick the mountainous pile of jeans and swear to them that they are all going to Goodwill. The sad conclusion, I don't own a favorite pair of jeans. For the first time ever! I remember my very first pair of favorite jeans. Circa 1975, hip hugger bell bottoms, translated to modern day Flare. These matched my embroidered blue jean pocket book that I made out of another pair of jeans. I loved those jeans. They died too, at the knees. I remember the day well. I cut the legs off and made them into a pair of shorts, Re-birthed! My new favorite pair of shorts! I frayed the legs which were just barely covering the pockets. What a summer. And then, they disappear! Where did they go? I ransacked the house asking everyone, no help. They’ve vanished into thin air. Then late one evening, my Mom asked me to go take some food to our little Chihuahua mixed breed Bunny. Bunny had a little dog house in the fenced yard near the end of the house. While I am calling her and scraping her dinner into the bowl, I see a remnant of cloth that I recognized hanging out of her house. I pull it out...My shorts!!!!! I was ecstatic. I didn't even care how they got there, though I have a sneaky suspicion. Onto the back porch I go and straight to the washing machine. Let's see, a couple of cups of this Tide should do it. Wash, rinse, repeat and over again. And there they are. I had them back on again the next day. No one ever even mentioned their return. But, back to the present. I can't even look towards the garbage can. What was the process? How did those jeans become my favorite jeans? Were they my favorites from the beginning or did I love them into existence? Since they have died at the ripe old age of 6, I don't know which came first. But, I think they had me at Hello.