On love, crushes, and JEANS I...

So it's been a while and yes, i'm dutifully guilty..verily so even. Mz. Dee (Shout out!) how u been?, thanks for forever checking up on me...further evidence that even though my blog may be moribund, it hasn't totally gone under. (Make u update sha, so u don't join the likes of Ozaveshe and Co...yes i know pot calling kettle black). Well, I've been good, life is good, taking it one day at a time..now to the subject at hand. I know you all are nearly falling out your seats and over yourselves just because i mentioned the L word. (Ok..so i kid myself..allow me enjoy the fantasy.). It began like this, (insert naija soundtrack here, somewhat along the lines of *gengengenge* and do the flashback thing) I woke one morning, had not previously prepared my day clothes the night before like i was trained to do,did the usual morning rituals donned my top,thermal wear, and then the jeans and was off to catch my bus, earphones stuck in both ears, book in hand.
So I sat at the bustop waiting for it to come as tears rolled down my eyes, cold biting my fingers, desperately and tirelessly, despite my gloves that were 60% wool and then it came. "Goodmorning" I said in a cheery tone that was not forced " 'mornin" he answered and then I swiped my bus pass wiped the tears that streamed down my cheeks and made my way to a seat. The bus came to a halt or maybe screeched, (I couldn't hear still had the earphones plugged in) I alighted and walked to work, I got to work removed my jacket and hung it, ready to start the day. "Hey Ro" I greeted my coworker "Hey Adia..how was your weekend?" "Good" and so we began small talk and later commenced throwing straws and gumballs at each other.
But this all happpened before I SAT and then it happened, i looked into my lap, one leg crossed high above the other and I was confronted with a long line on the inner thigh, like an angry gash lacerating the skin only this gash was in my jeans!!! I screamed silently, looking down again and willingly it to not be true...but it was because beneath the line my pink thermal wear peeked out as if to say "yoo-hoo, i can see you". This was wrong, so very wrong, my KILLER jeans (KJ) was dead!!
What ? You don't know what killer jeans are???? I'll elaborate, its the least I can do in an attempt to aid the transition of my KJ to glory (regardless of the fact that it's still being rocked). Killer Jeans...hmm..my killer jeans were my world, my love, second only to the KS (killer stilettos). It created illusions and enhanced amazingly, these jeans brought out the best of my butt (for which the two cheeks will forever be grateful), it fit right, totally right, and clung in all the right places. Not only was it my KJ it was also my one nation jeans which might explain the *oh so sad tear*, I rocked the joint eh! at some point I pitied the jeans too. My KJ got me compliments from "Wow..I love your jeans" "Where did you get them?" "Adia..Omg!! see your butt (d jealous ones.he he)" to "This jeans does wonders o!, everytime you wear it ehn.." Alas, KJ is dying of "rockingtearkolotis", and nothing can be done *sob sob* venturing to allow KJ undergo surgery involving stitching by the Calabar guy will last for a while but there will be further tearkolotis in future.
KJ wants all lady bloggers to know that they should all have KJs in their closests and this is the legacy she desires to leave behind...
" I KJ,once living in stuffed Ghana-must-go's, laid on waterproof sheets, left to the elements, scorched and baked in the sun, stray rivulets of sweat found their way to me, I was haggled over "2-5" he screamed, she looked dumbly and hissed lowly "1-5 ,last price" she answered and I could not understand what happened to the zeroes. "2000" she chirped, he consented. I was bought, designed by "C'est moi" my Aba artists, I soon found myself on a plane, my back snugly warm not for long though. I was ushered into biting cold my colors threatened to run from the threads but i held them in check, she can't possibly wear me everyday I told them, we'll find ourselves in a warm closet soon enough I told them but i was wrong, dead wrong. She must have loved me, a hella of a lot, cos I was rocked three days a week, sometimes mercifully two. She alternated between me and Sir Skinny, but there were so many others- Sir Levi, Sir Londonwhite, Miss Corduroy, Miss delightful-blue..ah..but it was just me...
I leave this life on account of rockingtearkolotis, but a hero even in death.Adieu!" *Rockingtearkolotis* - disease that often results in death of jeans a consequence of over-rocking
*Tearkolotis*- continuing tear and decline in jeans after having been stitched, this too often results in death