I am not really sure what the exact pleasure is of wearing your favortie jeans right after they have been washed, when they are all snug, and it is a chilly morning considering that it is mid-June and you can feel the wind graze against your ankles, exposed because you have your jeans rolled up, because it is mid-June and all. This pair of jeans I have worn pretty much every single day since when I first bought them with some Gap gift card recieved on Christmas. They are a woman's size 6, and when I go too many weeks without doing laundry, the ass of the pants gets loose, and it is still looser than when I first got them, and one day, even washing them won't fix the problem. But for now, perhaps because I know they will one day fall apart, I love these jeans and the pleasure that wearing them gives me. I want to believe that this pleasure exists independently of all those denim ads that say these exact same things, that talk about the pleasures of having a perfect pair of jeans. I am not sure that my pleasure is not somehow tied to that marketed one, but I don't really care either, and neither would you if you felt how I felt a short few minutes ago as I walked to the bodega to get a thing of milk in my just-washed jeans, feeling like things were not only all right in this world, but that things were awesome.