A newish pair of Lucky jeans, one of the several pairs of denim trousers I own, busted its stainless steel button closure a few weeks back. There was no theatrical “boing” sound, no comical launching of the button-part across the room; instead, there was a just a sad little bounce of the object on the carpet, and a sudden feeling that I’d lost some weight.
I found pliers to “repair” the part and fearlessly worked the rest of the day in those jeans, even as I knew there was at least an outside chance that my trousers would drop to my ankles unexpectedly, causing little old ladies to hoot and holler at me like a bunch of construction workers.
Then, just a day or two ago, the same button broke again. This time, half of it dropped into a toilet in the men’s room at work – a toilet, I should add, that bore evidence of recent use. So the question was, do I reach into the commode and retrieve my button half (then fully sanitize myself), or leave it and hope the local dry cleaner might be able to help with a new, authentic-looking button.
I opted to be cheap. While getting myself emotionally prepared to reach into the chilly, unclean public waters, I must have shifted weight a bit, and suddenly the auto-flush mechanism sent my forlorn button into the sewers of Cambridge, never to be seen again.
Farewell, button friend!