So, I guess this is it, huh? We all knew that this day would come. I just didn’t think it would be now. I thought we had longer. I thought you had longer.
As I sit here, trying to think of what to say, our past is flashing before my eyes. We’ve been through so much, you and I. I wasn’t an easy relationship. We didn’t always just fit together perfectly. It was a hard journey. Such a hard journey. We had ups and downs. Fights and love. But I wouldn’t change it for anything. I want you to know that.
I met you before I can even remember. How strange is that? But the truth is, we grew up together. From when my mom would make me weird beanies and hideous bows to when she would get me ready for school, you always had my back. You were always there to hold me together and make sure I looked cool, even for a nerdy, try-hard toddler.
For awhile, we were best friends. You would come with me to school or field trips, and I would love coming home and playing together. I felt like I could do anything, be anything, go anywhere, as long as I had you with me. It was great. We were great. And I never thought that our relationship would change. But life goes on, and people grow up. And we changed. I changed.
To be blunt. I got fat. And quite honestly, you didn’t really love me as much. You would put pressure on me. You would cause me pain. You weren’t there for me when I wanted to do something fun, and slowly, I stopped inviting you into my life. I don’t who’s fault it was. Mine, for not taking better care of myself, or yours, for being an asshole and not supporting me as I was. Either way, it was a shitty time for us, and we starting moving apart. We started growing apart. I starting looking for ways to replace you, and you refused to spend time with me, because I was no longer a good fit for you.
And I thought that was the end of us. I moved on. I got over you. I found new loves and I didn’t really miss you. But as I started to lose weight, you came back. Slowly at first. It would be a lie if I said I wasn’t interested in you, either. As the numbers on the scale went down, I started eyeing you more and more. Would you love me now? Would we fit together like we used to? Could we be the perfect, sexy combination that I had always dreamed of?
So I asked you out. I tried you on. And I fell in love all over again.
We fit. And you flattered me. We went to bars, and we went to the movies, and we did everything we always wanted to do, but never had the chance. Finally, things were perfect. You were perfect. You still are perfect, in your own way.
But while you were busy giving me everything I had ever wanted, I was looking for someone else to give me something better. It’s wrong, and it’s cruel, and I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry. But it’s the truth. And I think more than anything, you deserve the truth. I found a love who was flexible. Who could go anywhere with me, and who would love me if I gained a little weight or deiced to trim down. And now, as I sit in my room, deciding who I want to be with, the truth is so, so clear.
I’m over you, jeans. I’m done. I’m in love with yoga pants. And this is it for us.
Please, please don’t be angry. I know this is hard. But what I’m about to say is going to be even harder, because the reality is: it’s not me. It’s you. According to Bloomberg Business, I’m not the only one ending their constricting relationship with jeans. All over, people are giving you up for something kinder, softer, and more spontaneous. Your sales are down. And it’s not about the money, but, well, it is, sort of. Your sales have plummeted from $7 billion to less than $5 billion in the past twenty years. Basically the whole time I’ve been alive, people have been starting to hate you. What does that say?
It says that you’re over. Done. Irrelevant. I’m not going to let you make me unhappy anymore.
With the sales of Lulus and yoga pants skyrocketing, and the fact that they make me feel like a freaking goddess, I’ve found my new love. And I’m staying with them. Sure maybe when I’m lonely, or going to a dingy bar on a laundry day I’ll seek you out. But you’ll never again be my first choice. You can either change, and become flexible, or leave and realize that no one will love you as long as you keep restricting us.
The choice is yours, but I’m done waiting. Done wishing. Done hoping that someday I’ll be perfect for you. Because the truth is, you’re not perfect for me. And I am so, so done trying. Good luck, and I hope you find someone who never bloats and has a fast metabolism to love you forever.
It’s Not Me, It’s Your Annoying Buttons
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