Distressed Denim by Sydney Salter
I stole my favorite jeans from my little brother: a pair of Levi 501s distressed to perfection, 5th grade boy style. For six months during my sophomore year in high school, my younger brother and I shared the same size (he soon grew a foot taller than me). Unfortunately, he marred most of his jeans with grass stains—but I caught this pair early. I loved these Levis, faded to bluey softness. I wore them to parties, skiing, and happily swayed my curvy hips down the halls of Reno High. By the time I packed them off to college, sexy rips crossed both knees.
I’m pretty sure that I was wearing these jeans when a cute guy in my biology class nudged his lab partner and said, “I’m going to date her.” He married me. (Levis do show off my best assets.) But my favorite memory of these jeans comes from Thanksgiving that year.
I’d flown to Palm Springs to visit my dad and step-mom. My dad, a physiology professor at a nursing school, took me to visit his campus—I wore my favorite jeans, of course. For the rest of the week, my dad and step-mom kept giving me money. And they took me to the mall (Dad is not a shopper). Great, right? Turns out that my dad thought I was completely impoverished and starving to death at college because my clothes were literally falling apart. (I guess his students only wore shorts living in the desert and all—or maybe he just didn’t pay attention?!?) A few checks and care packages later, my step-mom finally asked about my financial situation (mentioning the jeans). I laughed so hard, trying to explain how my torn jeans had actually reached a true state of denim perfection.
To be entered to win a signed copy od MY BIG NOSE AND OTHER NATURAL DISASTERS, leave a comment below, telling us your funniest story starring you and your favorite jeans.
To be entered to win a signed copy od MY BIG NOSE AND OTHER NATURAL DISASTERS, leave a comment below, telling us your funniest story starring you and your favorite jeans.