My favorite, and sole, pair of black denim finally succumbed the other week to an inevitable and fatal fate of friction, from my bodacious thighs. They were purchased on the cheap from the Gap, some online sale, and had a generally flimsy texture and almost leggings-like appearance, so, honestly, I should be thankful and surprised they endured as long as they did. Despite a cheap price, and mostly cheap quality, they actually looked fairly decent, and, as black jeans, literally went with everything. So, a mere few weeks before my next vacation to London, when black pants that are comfortable to run around and act silly in will be critical, this unfortunate event does put me in a bit of a bind. On the one hand, I could continue in my rut of Gap jeans, with their alluring low prices and unattractive fits, with enough wiggling, that can almost be made to work for me. On the other, I could take the risky and tantalizing and certainly expensive plunge into designer denim, likely to either discover my salvation, or be reminded once again of the burdens of some added pounds. On yet another, imagined, not yet existent hand, I could just pursue my cowboy fantasies and get an immortal pair of dungarees.
(image taken from JC Report)