A Paean to a Pair of Pants

INT. DARK CATHEDRAL-NIGHT CUE: "Kyrie" from Mozart's Mass in C Minor is being sung in the choir stalls

CLOSE-UP on a table full of flickering candles, layered in multiple levels

PULLING BACK SLOWLY on a mid-twenties male sitting in a side chapel, as we hear a voice over:

CELEXO:

Walking toward the T tonight, I felt a sharp blast of cold air in many places that I don't normally feel blasts of cold air. It turns out that my favorite pair of jeans had been worn, in public, for the last time. Smaller holes near the crotch and over the right, front pocket had been patched previously, but irreversible damage had been done today during an unfortunate crossing-of-the-legs.

These pants are over 5 years old; their classic, button-up, boot-leg style was both stylish (at a time) and then comfortable and broken in during their later years. I have a personal connection with their purchase as well: they were the foundational purchase of my "post-Atkins diet" shopping spree. Once you drop twenty pounds, you stop wearing jeans and they start wearing you.

Later in their life, they were perfect weekend jeans. It didn't matter if they drooped in the back, or dragged behind my heals; they were the perfect kind of comfort food. And now, they must be put to sleep.

Good night my friends...you and I had many good times; you and I shared an intimate connection; but now, alas, you will only live on in my memory, and you know, this blog.