write a short story about a man picking out what pants to wear. the story should be from the POV of a pair of old jeans sitting in the drawer with the other pants. the story should be the inner monologue of the jeans as they are pessimistic that they will be chosen over the newer jeans. the tone should be very serious. the story should have a happy ending. keep the story under 300 words
My owner pulls open the dresser drawer where I live with the other pairs of jeans. I am the oldest pair that he owns, and he has chosen me less and less lately over his newer, shinier, more vibrant alternatives. I can see his eyes darting back and forth between all of us, perfectly folded and awaiting a day of work, play, whatever. His gaze lingers on the pair to the far right, which doesn't surprise me as those seem to be his new favorites. I feel myself sink a little bit deeper into the drawer, resigning myself to another day cold and unworn in this dark dresser with the other jeans. Then, suddenly, almost as if an invisible force nudges his arm, my owner reaches down and grabs me firm and true. He pulls me out of the drawer, and I unfurl proudly in front of him. He smiles, and I am chosen. I get to serve my purpose at least one more time. Maybe it will be the last, I don't know, but today... today I am chosen. Today I am useful. Today I am happy.