He was her old jeans.

The ones that fit perfectly a few years ago.

The ones that periods of carelessness meant they didn't fit anymore.

The ones everyone said you looked amazing in.

The ones that no other pair can rival as they are just right in color, style and comfort.

The ones you keep at the back of your closet, never to throw out, just in case you fit them again some day?

The ones that would need hard work to fit again.

And Mac was willing to diet.

I hope you like my metaphor, though I think the gin may have gone to my head Sorry if it doesn't make sense!