The Case Of My Missing Jeans

thI can’t seem to understand it. No matter how hard I try, I am unable to make sense of it. I’ve looked everywhere. I have pulled every piece of clothing out of my closet. I have pulled all of the pounds and pounds of tangled clothing from my wife’s closet. I have looked in the various storage closets in my house. I have pulled out the washer and dryer so I could see if anything was behind them. I have even gone so far as to clean out my cluttered and cobweb infested garage, just in case I somehow managed to leave my jeans in there.

Before I fall asleep at night, I lay wide awake feeling the weight of the backside of my head on the pillow. I can not seem to stop thinking about this. The thoughts loop around and around in my mind. Where could the jeans have gone? When did I last wear them? Is it possible that I could have left them someplace else even though I rarely ever take off my pants when I am not at home? Is it possible that jeans or any kind of pant for that matter can just get up and walk away, all on their own? There are an infinity of possibilities that the limited human brain is incapable comprehending, maybe it is possible for jeans to just get up and walk away? Did I mistreat my jeans? Did I do anything that would make my jeans want to leave me? This goes on for what feels like hours before I am able to stop thinking and get some sleep.

One of the reasons why the disappearance of my jeans is so upsetting to me is that they were my favorite. I spent over $150.00 dollars on them because from the beginning I knew they were exceptional quality. The material of the jeans was so soft, stretchy and the cut was slim. They made me feel like I still had some sex appeal when I wore them. Jeans have a way of making the person feel more true to themselves and when I wore these jeans I felt deserving. Maybe this is the reason why I wore these jeans several times I week. It was one of the few things that I owned that I felt like I deserved. It was as if our paths were meant to run right into one another. So why would these jeans just go away?

Maybe it is a very real possibility that they did not go away at all. Instead, maybe someone else took them. Maybe my jeans were stolen. Anything is possible in this day and age that I am living in. People break into other people’s homes all the time. No one feels like they need to deserve anything anymore. It is a free-for- all and whatever a person can get there hands on, whether they deserve it or not, becomes their property. Maybe jean theft is on the rise? I have not read about or heard any reports of jean theft but maybe these crimes go unreported, just as I have not reported the disappearance of my jeans to the police. It is an embarrassing situation to report the disappearance of your favorite pair of jeans, so maybe everyone just remains silent. But it still does not discount the very real possibility that there could be a thief on the loose who stole my jeans.

But maybe I am being paranoid. Maybe this paranoia is a result of my previous over usage of marijuana. A vestige of that drugged out time in my life that still remains in the here and now. Just as it is possible that my wife is not having an affair or that my friends do not talk poorly about me when I am not around, it is equally as possible that my jeans were not stolen. There is the very real possibility that my jeans just got and left me. Maybe they felt like they were worn too much. Maybe they got tired of being stretched around. Maybe they did not like the laundry detergent that I washed them in. Maybe the drier was just too hot. Who knows. I am tired with keeping myself up so late, night after night thinking about why.

The reason why I think it is a real possibility that my jeans ran away from me is because I often see them on various men around town. This has happened a handful of times at the record store and café that I go to. I will be listening to a record or reading a book and then look up and notice that there is a man wearing a pair of jeans that look exactly like mine. I know that it is possible that these men could have bought a similar pair of jeans as mine but in these few instances the jeans that I have noticed on other men, look exactly like mine. They have a stitch coming undone in the same location. The butt of the pants is discolored and worn just as mine were. There is the same semen stain near the bottom part of the crotch. There is even an identical, small tear in the corner of the left hand back pocket.

As much as I wanted to confront these men to see if they were in fact wearing my jeans, I never did. I suppose I avoid conflict or I am too shy to approach complete strangers and accuse them of wearing my jeans. How would that conversation start anyways? “Excuse me, where did you get your jeans? Could I have a close look at them?” No, I do not think that would go over well. So it is a possibility that one of these men is the thief that I was thinking could have stole my jeans. I am aware that this is a very real possibility. Or maybe my jeans ran away on their own volition and found their way into one of these men’s closets. Why my jeans would prefer one of these men over me is a mystery to me, especially since none of these men seem to have even a slightly decent fashion sense. Maybe one of their closets was just a more enjoyable place for my jeans to hang out. I really don’t know.

I am starting to accept that my favorite pair of jeans are gone. It is difficult to accept loss, especially when it is something or somebody that you really felt like you deserved and earned through unpleasant toil. I have a hard time accepting that I will never again feel the feeling that I felt when I had my jeans on. I suppose I am not fully ready to let go yet. Maybe I am not starting to accept the loss of my jeans. Every night I am still waking up in the middle of the night, getting out of bed, grabbing a flash light and looking through all the various closets in my home. I have a feeling that I am not going to be able to sleep the night all the way through until I solve the case of my missing jeans.

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