I am not one for change. This is a very annoying characteristic of mine that my husband struggles with.
He loves change. He changes things every single day. New ideas, new dreams, new goals. It does my head in.
Not only do I hate change in life, I also hate change in clothing.
Once I get a good pair of winter boots, then that is it for as many winters as possible.
I have a favourite jacket, favourite thongs, favourite sun dress, and I honestly don’t see the need to vary too much from the things I love.
But above all, I have my favourite pair of jeans. They fit like a glove. An old glove.
Pulling them on is no different to slipping into my pyjamas at the end of the day.
Dress them up, dress them down. As soon as they come out of the washing machine and off the drying rack, I just pull them back on.
While everyone else buys new ones in a slightly different colour or slightly different style, I just keep the old faithfuls at the ready.
However, my resistance to change recently caught me out big time.
After dropping my boys at school and happily chatting to teachers and other parents, I raced to the supermarket.
Then it was back home to unpack and do a bit of housework before heading to the local nursery to look at plants for my garden.
I wandered around without a care in the world, taking my time walking up and down rows and rows of green options.
Finally on arriving home with arms full of punnets my husband asked me if I was wearing grey undies... which seemed like a rather odd question.
I don’t care what colour undies he wears, so why on earth should he care about the colour of mine?
Well apparently, I should have been quite concerned about the undies I was wearing that day because half the city must have seen them as I made my way from school to the supermarket to the garden centre.
A massive rip taking out the entire side of my jeans’ back pocket was there for all to see! There was simply no hiding it.
All I could do was think about all the places I had been, the people I had seen and chatted to and the number of times I had bent over while looking at plants!
And despite the fact I was safely home, I was still horrified.
The years and constant wearing had indeed aged my trusty jeans until they could take no more.
Sometimes change is good. Or even just having a backup plan.
No matter how comfortable we might be with life, there’s no point waiting until the seat of your pants is ripped out from beneath you before you think about possible new strategies for the future.