You know, when I first met you I have to say I was hesitant because of your $175 price tag. But after I strode out of the dressing room with my ass lookin' so fat you could see it from the front, I was in love. I swore of all others but you, J-brand. My sole pair of jeans, you were tight in all the right places and more than long enough to rock a small cuff when those punk rock high school memories became so strong.

So can you please tell me what the fuck happened last night J-brand? Why one moment you were a cohesive dark piece of jean material sent from heaven to make me look extra-super-good and the next THE ENTIRET CROTCH SEAM RIPPED APART!?!? I'm not sure what I did to offend you but it was very embarrassing, your seamline split from next to the zipper that went down almost until my knee.

How could you do this to me? I mean, I always went that extra mile to hang you up to dry instead of casually throwing you in the dryer and mistakenly shrinking you like I have with so many other pairs of jeans that have come into my life. I did not launder you too frequently, and had a really nice bottle of Febreeze I would spray you down with prior to going out with friends so as not to offend their delicate senses of smell--I mean, I really did do everything I possibly could for you!

And how do you thank me? By slowly being worn out from my gentle brand of love? NAY! By abandoning me in my hour of need! (1AM or so, to be exact.)


:'( I thought we were at least frenz, J-brand. Now I know differently.