"Is It Just Me, Or Is It In the Jeans?" - a short story

This is a true story, from a pretty major event in my life. Really, you all may be the only bunch of fellows who can relate to some big part of it. See, some six-odd years ago, I started seeing this beautiful girl, from a third-world, South American country I guess I'll remain nameless. She was classic, elegant, long flowing back hair, the whole bit. Her father, a retired auto mechanic, taught me to rip chickens' heads off with my bare hands. They were all tri-lingual, but they spoke a tribal tongue called Guarani at home. English was not one of the tri linguals. So, I learned Spanish in order to court her. I was living in the U.S., going to school in southern California at the time, which wasn't easy for us, but we managed. While in school, I randomly stumbled across a shop selling selvedge denim in Malibu, CA. I'd never heard of selfvadge before, but the bulky-bearded man in the beautifully undignified Canadian suit told me all about it, as he tour-guided through his tiny LEVIS(c) museum within his shop. The store was called "Levis", if I recall correctly, but it was unlike any Levis store I'd ever been in before. Anyway, I became enthralled, enamored, and I knew very little about it. But, I had a plan. I had already had a plan, which was to graduate school and fly down to my third-worldly, South American beauty, surprise her, make out with her, and bring her back to America. It had been over 4 years since the one and only time we'd seen each other. So, this being a real turning point, er, beginning for us, I built my new infatuation with the story-telling qualities of denim into our plan. I decided to purchase the highest quality, longest lasting, coolest looking blue jeans, and leather boots to go along with it. I also wanted them to be as American(a) as possible, to really highlight the cross-culture contrast. I would then not wear them until I awoke the morning I was to board that plane from California to The-Place-Remaining-Unnamed, and then wear the hell out of them, thereby inscribing the story of our love upon denim and leather, so that 50 years from then when people wanted to ask about them, they would tell the story without me having to. But I would still tell them anyway. I was so proud of my Levis Vintage Clothing 501zxx, 1954, selvedge, Big Capital E, Red Tab.... and my Red Wing Heritage Iron Ranger Brogue Wingtips.
My plan went pretty smoothly, as far as the boots and jeans go. But the Latin beauty and I broke up earlier this week, after one and a half more years of long-distancing it. As many of you already know, the LVC's weren't all the bearded man cracked them up to be. Holes in the front pocket bags after about 50 wears told me that loud and clear. I'd say over the past 15 months I've maybe worn them 250 times? Maybe 300? Probably 254. I'd post pictures, but there's really nothing to post pictures of. There's almost zero fading, whiskering, huskening, feathering, sickening, or tinseling. Never washed or soaked, either. I'm thinking the problem is LVC just doesn't make that fine a product, or maybe I just didn't go hard enough in them. Or, perhaps there just wasn't that much of a story to tell after all.