"Have you been gardening in those pants?"

A while back Kris's socially-inappropriate grandmother looked down her nose at my jeans with designer tears and factory-installed frayed seams, and asked me if I had been gardening. I had no idea why she would ask me that, until she gave a nod to my pants. In her mind, I suppose, one would only wear such ragged things to do chores. One would certainly not wear them to Sunday Dinner. I explained that the kids these days pay extra for pants that come with holes.

As I was actually gardening in the very same pants just now (which is why we are now discussing my pants and Kris's aging grandma) I got to thinking about how spoiled I am. Grandma waited out Hitler in the Netherlands, which was occupied during WWII. She understands poverty and hard work on a level that I never will.

I rarely keep my pants long enough, nor do I regularly perform the type of tasks that might wear holes through the denim. How ridiculous is it that I would pay more money than Grandma would spend on groceries in a month, for a pair of pants that look like they are about to fall apart?