Blue Jean Baby

I appear to have been gifted by the denim gods.

I own several pairs of jeans. I am mean to them, and as a consequence, they have a tendency to get holes in them. From a practical standpoint, this means that I am simply no longer allowed to wear those particular pairs in polite company. I still wear them when I’m bumming around or am not, in fact, in polite company.

I do have one pair that keeps me properly concealed in the way that pants should. Unfortunately, that pair does not fit well after a couple wearings, so it’s not always available.

I swear to god this has a point. I was asked to come in to work and do some manual labor over the weekend. I did, because I rather like my boss (and aside from that, the things that need to be done are maybe something that I should already have taken care of).

So, the setup: I didn’t want to wear big boy pants for something that I knew was going to make me dirty, but my relatively decent pair of jeans was out of commission. What do I do?

Obviously, I unearth a rather pristine pair of jeans that I have no recollection of buying. In fact, I have no recollection of owning them, or ever even seeing them before.

I’ve been thinking about it off and on for days. They’re GAP jeans, in my style and my size, but in a wash that I’ve never bought before. I literally cannot remember receiving them, ever. Yet the odds of the only logical explanation (my Chinese laundry accidentally dropping them in with my pants when they folded my clothes) are so astronimically against that you would need the Heart of Gold to make it realistic.

If there’s another, less logical explanation, well… that’s something that could fundamentally alter the fabric of my reality. Which would apparently then be made of denim.