I have a tag here on the blog called “completely irrational.” I don’t display tags because it looks kind of ugly on this theme when I do, but the tag is there somewhere in the string of letters I don’t understand that make things go around here.
Anyway. Enough of the mini-lesson in the backend of blogging.
I have a completely irrational confession to make. Publicly. It’s silly and probably weird, but I suspect I’m not alone so solidarity and all that. (And please do tell me if I’m not alone.)
I really hate washing my jeans.
I do wash them because gross, but I hate washing them because it ruins them.
It never fails that my jeans need to be washed riiiiight when they get to the point where they’re perfect. Do you know that point? They’re loose in the right places, comfortable. Just right. They aren’t so tight my thighs can’t breathe like they sometimes are when I first put them on.
Putting them on fresh out of the dryer means starting from scratch every time they’re clean and it’s annoying. I button and zip them and then do some squats in the bedroom hoping to speed up the process of breaking them in.
It only sort of works and then I spend the next few hours waiting for them to feel perfect again. By the time we’re there, usually after a couple of wears, their inevitable trip through the washer is upon us. With one more wear the butt would get saggy so it’s really just a matter of quitting while I’m ahead.
I don’t remember this being an issue until recently. Or maybe it was always an issue but now I’m just aware of that moment when the jeans are perfect and wish I could freeze them in that moment.
Or maybe it means I’m too fond of my yoga pants and leggings.
(My money’s on option C.)