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One day my person was wearing me and standing in front of her full length mirror. The sight was almost shocking. When had my nice knees become so threadbare? And the tear on the side seam…how did that happen? The color wash on my historic denim blue was so uneven and streaked! I looked so old and so…distressed. The scene was so unmatched, and so…so out of my proper generation. Even that iron-on patch my person had added on the underside had begun to part from the fabric beneath a hole on the thigh.

Sigh. Embarrassment. Dismay.

How and when did all this old age happen to me? How did my sleek and fashionable look become so – pitiful? I pondered. I remembered bits and snatches of my life this past season. My person worked me hard. That I do recall. All the sitting and rising from the floor at her job with children. The crawling about on the floor looking for sewing pins, and under her bed for lost shoes. Then there was that big dog that was friendly enough to jump on us and catch his nails in my leg fabric. Oh, the snags!

And the many washings I had to endure because of grass stains and playdough flour dusting me in my pores. I have traveled long and far, riding in a cramped seat to hot Virginia, and to Maine. Oh the tales I could relate to all who would listen. Truly, I have given much to my person’s life, and I deserve better than to be thrown away as old and “whole-ly”. My giving has been legendary…and…whoa, I just had a realization. I am actually not looking as old and disposable as I first thought. I remember those jeans I saw in the city that come with huge price tags, and holes to begin with. Distressed on purpose, with no legend to tell. No history to bring to a person.

I am worth a fresh look. Hummmm, I am torn and worn and faded in all the right places, Maybe I could fetch top dollar out there in torn jeans Fashion land! Just dreaming, and appreciating. My person needs me. I fit her life. (And jeans deserve thanks).

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