My Favorite Black Pants Become My Favorite Painting Pants

Ugh. While the whole process of moving has taken a physical and emotional toll, up until now I had suffered very little in the way of loss. Quite the contrary. I have been actively shedding possessions that I once thought were completely necessary, and now realize that I in fact do not require them. But in one evening all that changed.
I backed into a recently painted wall and it was an irrevocable error. My absolutely favorite black pants for the last several years had more paint on them than most of my painting clothes. No amount of emergency interventions could revive them to a level where they could be worn for anything but painting. They are not funky painted--they are backed into a wall painted. Woe is me. I could not believe how upset I became! I am now going through the five stages of grief, looking for some reasonable facsimile of a substitute for my beloved pants (which is a hopeless task, because I have tried on several occasions and failed miserably--it just goes to show that I still have an optimistic bone in my body), and vowing to not enter a room that I do not know the date and time it was last painted. Which will be challenging, since two of the three houses I currently own are undergoing extensive renovation, including painting. Ah well. These things happen, I suppose. I should try to access the more zen side of my personality related to my possessions. And move on.