My relationship with my jeans

It’s Monday morning and I roll out of bed after hitting the snooze button a few too many times. It’s a typical process- sleeping in too late only to have to rush to leave the house on time.

My wardrobe stares at me, ready to fight, and I reach into my pant drawer and grab my favorite skinny jeans. After getting them past my knees they start to put up a fight. Maybe putting them in the dryer wasn’t the best idea… I tug and pull at them trying to get them past my thighs and when they finally slip on, I suck in my belly and do up the zipper. They’ll loosen up throughout the day, I tell myself.

I make my coffee and throw on a bit of makeup, look down, and realize that my zipper has gone for a stroll and decided to take a break at the park bench where the zipper tracks meet my jeans. I zip them back up.

My coffee cup is soon empty and my makeup done, so I brush my teeth and head downstairs to grab a banana and granola bar. I throw on my coat, grab my keys, and jog to my bus stop. Only, something feels off. A slight breeze tickles my pelvis. I look down, and sure enough, my zipper is down again. I pull it up and continue walking. There is no turning back now if I want to make my bus.

The bus is so warm I almost fall asleep on the way to school, but I eat breakfast to keep myself conscious. When I stand to get off the bus, I glance down at my crotch. Sure enough, my floral panties are peeking through as if to say hello to the day. I close their window.

Now, since these jeans are high waisted, the zipper is longer than most, and gapes open every time they’re undone. But the zipper fiasco happens consistently throughout the day. Every time I stand up, I awkwardly bend toward the desk as if to grab something and swiftly zip up my pants before anyone notices.

Until one incident. I go to zip up, and my zipper stops in it’s tracks. With it caught on my panties, I sit back down and frantically try to unhook the cotton and metal from one another. I wiggle the zipper back and forth until finally it breaks loose and I can breathe again.

When I finally get home, I close the front door, and take off my evil jeans as I would my coat. I look down and find a tiny hole in my panties where the zipper got caught.

I swear to myself that I will remember the experience, and avoid these jeans like the plague. But sure enough, I don’t learn. The next week, the same experience.