These are the jeans. The jeans that symbolize so much about the early relationship of Jared and I. When I could fit my hips in a smaller size, when pimples liked to rule the face, and when life seemed oh so much simpler. You read about how we met here, and this is just a little continuation of our story. Pictured here, are my favorite Hollister jeans. Yes, I used to wear Hollister back in the day because I swore that those were the only jeans that fit me. And back then, I figured I would wear Hollister forever, hah! These jeans were pretty much glued to my body. It just so happens that one night at youth group, the one Jared and I attended together, he was sitting on the right side of me. We used to, and still sometimes do, pretend like we're writing on each other with a pen that's secretly closed. Assuming it would never actually happen, I played along. That night in youth group, apparently Jared didn't find what the leader had to say very important, so he decided to write on my jeans. LITERALLY click the pen, press it to my jeans, and write AMY on them. I could not believe that he just did that. But part of me remembers not really caring. Our relationship was new, so how dare I get mad at actual ink, permanently placed on my perfect jeans that hugged my body too tight, being there. My how times have changed. Get anything that stains remotely close to my clothing, it's like the world will end. From that moment on, they were declared my Amy Jeans, which made me love them that much more. They were like the 'sisterhood of the traveling pants' jeans that were only for me. It was like I was openly claimed by the boy I was with, and how good did that feel. Sure he went over them a few times with different pens as the wash slowly faded the ink, and sometimes I even asked him to, because it was something we had special together, something that a fifteen and seventeen year old could laugh at. As I am unpacking, organizing, and throwing out clothes that I no longer wear in my mess of a room, I came across these jeans at the bottom of my drawer. A smile slid across my face and memories flooded my mind as I remembered the night they were named and became so important. I would have never known that a piece of clothing could mean so much to me. They may never be worn again, probably because my hips won't ever fit, but there was no way that I could part with them. So for now, they sit at the bottom of my drawer again, and as they slip to the back of my mind, I cannot wait to clean out the drawers again, find these jeans, and relive the old memories that I hold so closely.
Is there a piece of clothing that makes to relive the past? Tell me your stories!
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