Out & About

Out & About: Damn Fine Race Director in Those Damn Fine Jeans

You were the Race Director at one of Seattle’s many sporting events. Normally I pay as much attention to Race Directors as a cup of decaf, but when you started talking I immediately woke up (it was early morning after all). Your hair was somewhere between short and long and the wavy curls that kept falling in your eyes added to your universe of charm. I was fangirling hard over your smile and shy enthusiasm and had never been so excited to hear rules and regulations discussed.

You looked super fit and athletic (no surprise) and though most people resemble Hobbits when wearing wind jackets, you could have been the cover model for Windbreakers Illustrated.

But honestly…those jeans. You in those jeans. They were not skinny jeans, not jeggings, not painted on, not low-rise, not dark rinse. Not cropped, not tapered, not fashionably ripped, not sandblasted. They were well-worn, broken in naturally over time and I’m guessing one of your favorites because damn girl they fit you amazing. I know it. You know it. The Gods of Denim know it. That is why they blessed you with good jean genes. *rim shot*

These jeans were still blue…faded but not without color. Speckled in the half-life of outdoor adventures, races won and lost and Sunday afternoon trips to the dog park. Broken in enough I could see the outline of your phone in the front pocket. These jeans got shit done. These jeans were owned, worn and rocked by a confident woman.

These jeans were tight in all the right coordinates. Curved and hugged and swerved in all the right directions. Not baggy…bootcut, yes, but not baggy. I could see your defined hamstrings and we as a society really need to come up with a sexier word for the back of a woman’s legs because that S-curve is proof I’ve been a very good girl in this life.

These jeans fit perfectly over the top of your brown boots. They were exactly the right length and the cuffs ended just slightly above the ground.

These jeans are probably not the jeans someone would consider “date” jeans. But these jeans…these jeans…you in these jeans…were worth 359 words.

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