A Sad Story

Once upon a time, there was a girl. That's me. She went to Japan on a foreign exchange. That's here.

So I was packing up about 8 months ago, trying to decide which of my beloved clothes would win the free (actually, I'd hardly call it free...) ride to Japan in my suitcases, when it occured to me that one whole suitcase was dedicated to jeans. In case you are unfamiliar with jeans, let me tell you about them. They are blue, usually, and denim. Sometimes they hug the hips, sometimes they flare at the bottom. Sometimes they have cheesy pictures on them. Usually they have pockets, though sometimes they don't and sometimes there are so many pockets you can't find the jeans. There are jeans for everyone out there - grandma's and grandpa's, retro high school kids, little tottlers who can't dress themselves, and even Japanese. Most people have a certain style they prefer to other styles, so that while jeans stock up (they're also very addicting and, because they're so essential, sell really well), most of the jeans in a person's collection consists of a mountain of nearly identical jeans. Of course the owner of the jeans can tell the difference - this pair makes me look fat, this pair clings to the leg too much, but fits the hips just right, this pair has three buttons and no zipper, this one has the conveniently big pocket - but to the average onlooker, jeans are nearly identical.

So I was stuck with a problem. I had one suitcase dedicated to 20 pairs of the same item and barely had room for my passport. I didn't think it was a problem until the travel agent sent me multiple emails, letters, and faxes warning me of the consequences of favoring jeans over my passport, which is when I decided to cut down on my beloved jeans. Next thing I knew, I had a rather sad collection of my three favorite pairs of jeans, hoping against hope that they would hold me for a year.

One of them fits me really strangely now, one of them got stuck in the tire of a bike wheel and has black stains running down it, and the last pair is so worn that the inside of the thighs look like they won't hold out one more walk across the street. I think I should have bought another pair. If you're a future exchange student, bring at least four pairs of jeans with you. And they're so expensive here.

In America, I wore jeans to school virtually every day, rain, snow, sun, and tornado threats. I wore jeans on my first date, I wore jeans to the doctors office and to the movies with my friends. When in doubt about the formality of an occasion, I played it safe and wore jeans. They were party clothes and school clothes and probably a gift from God.

Now, I wear my school skirt to school, my sweats around the house, and, surprise of all surprises, a skirt when I go out. I brought exactly one skirt with me because frankly, I didn't feel particularly comfortable in skirts. And now, with only three deteriorating pairs of jeans, I buy skirts. And skirts and skirts. What'll become of me?

And I bet you thought I was going to tell you something meaningful and insightful.