Perhaps I played one too many games of pocket pool. But whatever the reason, whichever the season, no matter how pleasin', I have ended up with a big hole in the pocket of my favorite jeans.
Even since the hole emerged, I manage to scare myself at least once a day. Like this morning, when a quarter I mistakenly put in that pocket slid down my leg, sending an oh-my-god-something-is-crawling-down-my-leg feeling up my spine.
I especially dig these jeans b/c I bought them at H&M in Berlin on my first trip to Europe. It was early April 2002. Ahh, riding in Mercedes Benz cabs on my employer's dime.
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