Good Friday Jeans and Friends

Back in the days when I was gainfully employed, I never got Good Friday off. My first year at my previous employer (2002), we got semi-permission to leave early, and I was out the door. I met up with Dr. P and went shopping for jeans. Since I hadn't planned on this, I wore an old pair of granny undies. Actually, most of my undies were granny undies back then, so I really had to be strategic about matching my underwear to my day's activities. Dr. P convinced me to try on a pair of low rise jeans, which I insisted up to that point would never work for me based on a disaster that I had in a fitting room at Express in 1998.

Lo and behold, I loved this new-fangled style. (Every style to me is a fad unless it lasts for over five years, and I am pretty sure low rise jeans had already reached that mark by 2002.) My Levi's 518 Super Low Rise (which were not super low on me because of my short torso – they reached just below my belly button as opposed to just above my pelvis) jeans are starting to look really ratty these days. The crotch and hems are fraying like mad. Stupid Levi's of course does not make the exact same pair any more, so I am trying to savor what I have left in them.

Which brings me to Dr. P. Late August is the 13th anniversary of our friendship. I've held my breath two times as she transitioned from being my friend P to my friend Dr. P. Each time, I was lucky: she got into med school in NYC and then she got her five year surgery residency in NYC. I was delighted to continue to get to spend absurd amounts of time with her. When it comes to fellowship, though, Dr. P is moving to Florida. I'm trying to be brave and taking it one day at a time, just like with the jeans she helped me buy. Fortunately, her goal is to repair holes in people's asses, so I think she'll outlast the jeans.