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A great pair of jeans is like a thoughtful lover. Let's call him "Levi."

Levi is supportive and easy to be with; he shields your flaws and celebrates your best assets. He's there to comfort you after a hard day at work.

"Hey, girl," he whispers from the closet. "Let's curl up on the couch with a bottle of Chardonnay and binge-watch The Handmaid's Tale . . . let me hold you."

Steadfast and true as a Boy Scout, Levi is your mid-rise, straight-legged soul mate.

The marriage between a woman and her favorite pair of jeans is a sacred union. She promises to love, honor, and tumble dry low. He pledges to cherish, obey, and never let her muffin top show.

I met my most precious Levi in my mid thirties. Of all the jean joints in all the world, I knew in an instant he was the one for me.

Levi was the perfect Plus One, as comfortable at a barbeque as he was dressed up for the theater. We traveled well together, and all my girlfriends loved him. I thought we'd be together forever.

Forever turned out to be just over seven short years. In my worst nightmares, I couldn't have imagined it would end the way it did - at the Loehmann's After Christmas Sale.

I strode through the door with a skip in my step. Levi was being particularly uplifting that day, and I was feeling a little sassy.

We've been warned, have we not, that pride goeth before a fall?

I was browsing through the accessories department when saw it, the instrument of my destruction - a hand-stitched leather shoulder bag with embroidered silk accents. It was stylish. It was sophisticated. It was Italian.

A low, husky voice called to me from the bottom shelf. "Buonasera, Signorina. Take me home!"

My face flushed with excitement as I reached down to take my new inamorato into my trembling hands. And it was there that Levi and I were torn asunder.

I heard the rip before I felt the breeze.

My head had been turned by a flashy piece of arm candy, and in a moment of lust I violated the cardinal rule of Long Term Denim Relationship Management: if you've been together for more than seven years, you must never squat all the way down to the floor.

I walked into Loehmann's in the warm embrace of my dearest companion. I walked out in a pair of fanny-less chaps.

But with humility comes wisdom. It's fine to entertain a new flirtation every now and again, but never forget: there's no love like an old love.

Rest in pieces, Levi. You'll live forever in my heart.

-Pamela Wright

Pamela Wright is an award-winning essayist and humor writer. She lives in Clarkdale, Georgia with the world's most adorable mutt and two cats named Zelda and Gracie, affectionately known as The Old Maid Starter Kit. Pamela's writing has been featured in Full Grown People, Purple Clover, Travelers' Tales, and The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.