If you have an “issue” with weight, skip this post. You won’t find it amusing, insightful or nostalgic. It will only piss you off. (Are they gone?)
If turning 60 was a milestone, this week I passed one of far greater significance. I outgrew my Levis. First time.
I’ve weighed 155 pounds since high school. I’ve worn the same size Levis –34″ inseam, 32″ waist– for more than 40 years. And I have some jeans that are 20 years old. The same age as some of our summer interns.
You can see where this is going, can’t you?
I’ve gained about 5 pounds in the last 6 months, enough to make all of my comfortable, fashionably warn jeans just a little too snug. Oh, I can lie down on the bed, like some supermodel and get them buttoned but they just aren’t comfortable any longer.
So this weekend I purchased some new jeans, with a 34 inch waist. Talk about Passages. On the up side, it’s a hell of a lot easier to find 34×34 jeans than 32×34, although I’m not sure why.
Still in the last stages of denial, I came home and tried on –one final time– all my dear old jeans. Only a couple made the cut. The rest are in suspended animation in a big Tupperware crate in the basement.
I have no doubt they could fetch a couple of hundred a piece on Rodeo Drive (assuming straight leg jeans ever make a comeback). But you can’t put a price on knowing Jessica Alba’s little keester was packed in a pair of my old Levis. Sigh.