I recently rehabbed some old jeans. They were expensive, so I wasn’t apt to toss them. I grew up relatively poor and, as the eldest child, there were no hand-me-downs. I learned to hang on to clothing as long as it fit my lanky frame. Further, like every other Midwestern girl, I was enrolled in 4-H to learn how to bake and sew and craft.

The problem arrived in high school when I experienced an extraordinary surge in height.

Jeans were the garb of our youth. Not because we lived in a farming community – which we did – but because of their utility, their longevity, the wearability… for days and days and days, without a wash.

• Jeans were comfortable.
• Jeans were cool.
• Jeans were nonchalant.
• Jeans were ‘attitude’.
• Jeans looked ‘mean streets’ but were not.
• Jeans were inexpensive.
• Jeans were devil-may-care.

The problem arrived in middle-age when my arches flatted and my thighs spread.

And, I discovered 15 pair of jeans in my closet. On a Social Security budget, I was disinclined to buy more. I grew up in an era in which we ‘made do’ with what we had and would/could maintain the ethics of my youth.

• Jeans were available.
• Jeans were cheap.
• Ripped jeans were ‘in’.
• Embellished jeans showcased my creativity.
• Jeans were cool.
• Jeans were attractive – and nonchalant, suiting my post-career attitude.
• see all above the above, the list from my youth. Rehabilitation with love and flair.

I did it. I could. I embellished those jeans…

And basked in the compliments of my savoir-faire.

Speaking of savoir-faire… did you read my short story? Click on the link if you wish to do it now, please and thanks.

https://www.pjcolando.com/literature-and-lattes-and-a-slice-of-deva/