07 October 2015


I bought a pair of black jeans with silver sparkles all over them (more in the creases, less on the straightaways), and they are now my favorite pair of pants (US definition of pants).

Shopping is not a thing that I do much of right now, thanks to utter brokeness, but this was thrift store shopping, and I've been short on jeans. I own one pair of nice jeans that fit me perfectly when I put them on and are two sizes too big by the end of the day, which limits their usefulness. I own one pair of jeans that are too low-rise and can be worn only with loose shirts thanks to the resulting muffin top. I have to hoist them up all the time. I own one pair of fancy jeans that are wide leg and I can't wear them with boots. 

And now I own one pair of black jeans with silver! sparkles!

I'm probably too old for sparkly jeans. Very likely so. Guess how much I care?

Exactly. I don't care. Not at all. 

I came home from a suit-requiring meeting today and put on my sparkly jeans, and they are glorious. They may be the most comfortable piece of public-appropriate clothing I own. (They are Levis legging jeans, for what it's worth.)

Sparkly jeans are one of the paths to happiness. Or comfyness, at least, which sometimes is just as good.

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