Back when I worked for a living, I always had several pair of jeans going at once. I’d wear the newest ones to work, the comfy ones around the house, and the frayed ones in the shop and garden. But it wasn’t always clear which ones were which, and I took to labelling the back of the ‘made in china’ tag with a sharpie as ‘A,’ ‘B,’ ‘C,’ … so I’d know which pair I was putting on in the morning. By the time we moved, ‘G’ were my fancy pants, ‘D’ were faded, comfortable and (usually) dirty, and A thru C were history.
Nowadays, I go through pants pretty fast and, between pulling wires, hauling wood, mixing mortar, plastering and what-have-you, my primary work pants were shot. (And since I’ve lost almost 30#, they were pretty baggy, too.)
I’d have thrown them out, but I was in the middle of painting at the time, and it made sense to get paint all over just one pair of pants instead of every pair I own, so I held on to them. It took awhile to get all the painting done, and the pants got more and more ragged, and I told Mary one morning that, if I ever finished painting, I was going to burn those pants.
I finished painting last week, so I burned my pants.