Having a cherished item get ruined is probably the worst feeling in the world. First you feel bad because the thing you love is ruined, and then you feel even worse for being so materialistic that ruining a material thing can make you that upset. I am what my boyfriend likes to call a “Mangler” (Man-gler: one who wrecks things by mangling them, a mangler may be accompanied by a general lackadaisical attitude and/or sausage fingers) I ruin almost everything.
So when something that I love gets wrecked, I don’t just expect it, I anticipate it.
Although this wasn’t the case when my favourite jeans of all time; (FJOAT) a pair of of J Brand boyfriend jeans from Viens Avec Moi were added to the pile of “Things Jen Breaks.”
I remember it like it was last month: (it was last month) I came home after a particularly gruelling day at work. Nothing was going my way and I was feeling seriously down about everything. The holidays were approaching and I hadn’t started shopping and the idea of starting shopping was making me even more depressed. I came home to see Charles sitting in our dining room working on the computer. I walked into the living room and slumped on the couch only to feel the material of the jeans that was covering my butt suddenly get looser. This sensation was accompanied by a loud RRRRRIIIIIIP sound and I immediately broke down.
I put my head in my hands and just cried, right there on the couch. Silently of course so Charles wouldn’t know how crazy his girlfriend was. And then composed myself enough to get up and crawl into bed to cry myself to sleep even though my backside was exposed and cold.
The other day something similar happened to me while leaving work. I opened the door to leave when something caught on my winter jacket and I felt a rip begin. Wanting to overcome my mangler ways, I stood still thinking to myself, “Ok let’s figure this out…don’t move and the rip won’t get bigger,” only to be thwarted by as the door slammed shut behind me from the wind, taking bits of my jacket with it.
While the ripping noise did not exceed the rip of the J Brands, this rip was felt even more because a stranger witnessed it. A girl walking by saw what happened and sarcastically said, “I hate when that happens.”
I almost attacked her. She had no idea what happened. My beloved winter jacket that thus far had only got me through one winter was wrecked. I would need a new jacket right away and I would have to throw this one out. I was sure of it. Tears welled in my eyes as I rushed to my car holding back the urge to chase the woman down the street and throttle her.
It can all be fixed, but at what cost?
When I got to the car I did what any self-respecting clothes lover would do: I texted my friend.
After venting about how sad I was about my jacket ripping, I went home and inspected the rip. It was about two inches wide right above the pocket. I think it’s something that can be fixed by someone who is handy with a needle, and the same with my jeans. It can all be fixed, but at what cost. The item will never be the same and every time I wear I am going to be reminded of all the awful feeling I got when I broke the thing in the first place.
There’s a little corner of my room where I hoard items like this. It’s not quite a “toss it” pile, but it’s not quite a “keep it” pile either. It’s an in-between pile and I don’t think I’ll be fully healed of my shopping woes until I can rectify this.