spruced by marlene

I own three pairs of white jeans. I don’t know why. Well, actually I do. Once summer arrives I get the urge to wear white jeans. They feel light, uncomplicated and, in a way, celebratory. Because when else are you going to get the chance to wear white jeans except during the wonderful two months when the weather is like this?

The other explanation for why I own three pairs is that two of them are always in the wash. White gets dirty fast. In fact, this picture is a pure lie, because I don’t sit around on park benches when I wear white jeans, serenely sunning myself. Instead, I am pissed off that it takes approximately three-and-a-half minutes of being outside for them to get dirty (although you will perhaps understand, why I didn’t post a more truthful picture here of myself checking my ass for grass stains. Hey, it’s my website!). That’s the first problem with white jeans.

The second problem is Liz Hurley.

Liz Hurley is to white jeans what Paris Hilton is to Blondes: not the best example, what with the tight tank tops, tons of gold jewellery and all-over tan.

I never tan. And I still wear my jeans, with a loose t-shirt and, whenever he lets me steal them, James’ Harrington jackets. They belong in my summer like ice cream, beer and barbecues. And a stain stick.