Yesterday, with a bit of time to waste, Abby and I visited a thrift store with my mom. I’ve always been fond of finding a good bargain. I get giddy, actually. As seen in my closet, where, as just one example, my favorite sweater is a treasure from Goodwill, bought for $3 a few years back.
Our trip yesterday was another score. I came away with 3 shirts, a pair of capris, and a pair of jeans. All 5 pieces for $25. It wasn’t the cheapest of thrift lots, but I was still very impressed with my purchases.
I was eager to try the new-to-me items on when we came home. Especially the jeans. I had been going back and forth on those in the store, but I decided to take a chance. I slid them on, and I was instantly glad I had. Like butter. My thighs said aw, yeah.
It was like they had been waiting in that thrift store just for me.
They fit where they were supposed to fit. There was a bit of stretch so I could move without being pinched, or having rolls escape. The length couldn’t have been better, either, cascading to my heel. I’ve never had a pair of jeans fit this well.
I was seriously giving myself a mental high five.
Still wearing the jeans that I now refused to remove from my body, I bent down to sit. And that’s when we had a difference of opinion. They ripped.
Right down the crotch.
I know I bought these jeans on a discount, but that’s not exactly what I bargained for. It’s a good thing I’m not that easily offended.