Tears in the Fabric

Dearest Rachel –

The amusing thing about a title like today’s is that we both know that if I trailed off, you would expect that the next phrase would be something like “of spacetime” or “of the universe,” or some other such science-fiction-y turn of phrase. It’s the sort of realization that makes me wonder how I got so lucky as to wind up with a girl who is – was – more into nerdcore stuff than I ever was. You were the one who got me into Doctor Who. You were the one that finally convinced me to watch the (then available) Star Wars movies, rendering me one of the few who actually watched them in chronological order. So the thought that this would be a metaphorical expression would come naturally to you.

I’m going to speculate that this comes from being ‘daddy’s little girl,’ and participating in so many of the diversions that he enjoyed back in the day. Watching sci-fi and horror shows was a thing that the two of you did together, particularly when your mom was at some art gallery display or what have you (because none of this interested her). All of which is perfectly fine; after all, you seemed to be attracted to me because I shared certain qualities with your dad that you particularly appreciated. So, far be it for me to have a problem with you having been a daddy’s girl, and enjoying the same things your daddy did. Indeed, I’d wager good money that there are a lot of guys out there who wish they could find a daddy’s girl like I did.

Unfortunately, I’m not speaking metaphorically today. I woke up this morning and went to get dressed, and as I was pulling my jeans on, I felt a certain section of frayed fabric.

To be sure, I’m not completely out of luck; when we make plans to continue our walking regimen during the winter, Lars hooked me up with two pairs of Eddie Bauer denims that have a durable fleece lining inside them. So not only is the denim brand new, but each of them have a thick inner layer that makes them that much less susceptible to fraying. Of course, while technically we still have a couple more weeks of winter to deal with, those layers already render those pairs rather uncomfortably warm – especially if I happen to be hanging out in the bedroom, where the space heater still isn’t speaking to the thermostat (or perhaps, not listening to it, I’m not entirely sure. It doesn’t run continuously, but the breaks it takes don’t seem to correlate with whatever temperature I’ve set the room for), and can still be a bit of a hotbox.

So I’m left with these torn jeans for the time being, and the hope that no one notices between now and whenever I get out to get myself some replacements. A pity, too… these Levis were particularly comfortable, and I hate to have to switch brands for the sake of durability (and really, why would I expect anything to be more durable than Levis?) But that’s how things go sometimes; you have to get rid of what’s falling apart.

At this point, you would probably remind me that this is one of the reasons you never wore jeans – although, if I remember correctly, it was mostly because you never liked the feel of the (relatively) rough fabric against your skin. And considering how long you’d has much of what was a part of your wardrobe, I guess I couldn’t say ought against that. Then again, you had quite the pile of clothing (multiple piles, in fact), so it wasn’t like you were wearing just one or two pairs of trousers (or shorts, depending on the season) day after day like I do. So maybe the comparison isn’t really fair, here. But yeah, you never wore them, and you had your reasons, and this would probably just add credence to your argument against them.

At least I have various colors of underwear, so it doesn’t show much even to the most eagle-eyed observer. And of course, I have those shorts I wear at the gym, so it’s not like I’m showing these tears off at my most exposed.

Still, I suppose I still need you to keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it; at least, until I can get something else to cover up with.