“Ting!”, sang the button as it burst off my jeans and into the street.
I scrambled after it, dodging cars in the chaos of Manhattan.
Why? It’s not as though I had any chance of putting it back on my jeans.
Just a reflex, I guess.
After I recovered my prize, I reflected on my decision to wear these jeans with a fair amount of regret.
Like my jeans, I had been under a lot of pressure that morning to choose this particular pair because the holes in the butts of the rest of my jeans were getting to be a bit too much.
“I’ll just squeeze into these skinny jeans and they’ll be fine with a belt”, I said to myself.
My belt has been a real champ lately, clinging on for dear life at the very last notch with hardly a complaint.
So we soldiered on together sans button for the next few days and made for quite a successful duo.
“Oof!”, gasped my belt as it could finally take no more and burst apart under the strain, hitting the floor of my co-working space mid-stride.
For a moment, I could only think of myself, standing in the middle of the room with my belt swinging from my waist and my buckle on the floor.
And no button.
But I pulled myself together and gave my belt a proper burial in the trash with a few words to commemorate our journey together.
“I feel as though we could have had many more years together had I only recognized your pain sooner, M. Belt.”
“I’m so sorry.”
We had been busy brainstorming together for a good New Year’s resolution, and now I’m afraid I’ll never think of one.