Jeans, Five Days in a Row

This conversation started with Jessica and I, and because I had to leave for work, it resumed and concluded in my head.

Jessica: Those jeans again?

Non: Yah, so?

Jessica: But you’ve worn them all week.

Non: What does that matter?

Jessica: Five days in a row. They’re… (and here she intimates, non-verbally, that these jeans are of a lighter color, easier to recognize, easier for people to realize that it’s been five days)

Non: I don’t care what they think. But thanks for putting that in my head! (I say in jest)

-conversation resumes in my head-

Non: and I wonder if it’s the same if I were wearing dark blue jeans. Are those different? If it’s the color that matters, the potential for recognition from those around me, that’s just plain silly. If anything, really, the only argument is to claim that it’s disgusting to wear your jeans five days in a row; that the oils from your body have created an environment, down yonder, that is less than hygienic.

But of course, that is for me to decide. If others presume such an environment to be so, that doesn’t affect me in any way. If others recognize that I’ve worn the same jeans for five days in a row, they probably need to concentrate more on their work.

And hell, I like these jeans. They’re comfortable. The oils saturate and soothe the skin so pleasantly, like a cool, persistent breeze during a hot, sticky summer.

Jessica (the fictional one in my head): gosh that Non, he’s so darn stubborn!

Jeans, Jessica! Jeans.

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