Pockets

 

 

I accidentally wore an outfit without pockets today.  I hate that.  No matter how cute I think I am at home, I am always miserable when I get out in the world without pockets.  What am I supposed to do with my keys?  My phone?  The random treasures I find on the ground?  I need pockets!

I think the whole pocket thing goes way back for me.

When I was in kindergarten, I spent a lot of time with my grandmother who lived across the street from the school.  She once sent me to school in a snazzy little pocketless ensemble.  I didn't have much to carry in those days, however, on this particular day something special was going on in Mrs. Pluff's afternoon kindergarten class and we needed to bring - I don't know - a nickel or something to pay for a special treat.

Where was I going to put it?

Now, my grandmother was a little left of center, to be sure, and she came up with some bizarre ideas from time to time.  On this particular day of no pockets, she decided to tie my nickel into the corner of an embroidered handkerchief so I wouldn't lose it.

Ugh.

I walked to school with the hanky wadded up in my little fist to avoid embarrassment. Most of the tight spots I have gotten myself into in life have stemmed from me trying to avoid embarrassment, come to think of it. 

That day, Mrs. Pluff had an action-packed adventure all set up for us in the school's gymnasium!  She even had several assistants on loan from the nearby Vo-Tech.  And we marched into that gym with nervous excitement, absolutely thrilled to find gigantic, brightly colored parachutes and millions upon millions of red rubber balls!! 

This was going to be amazing!!!

Wait!  What was I going to do with my grandpa's snot rag tied around a nickel?!?!  Drat!  Being the quick-thinker that I was in kindergarten, I shoved the whole darn thing down my pants.  I was a weird little kid, but I was no dummy, and I didn't want that nickel to fall out the bebellbottomed legs of my elastic-wasted pants, so I put the money-filled hanky in my big girls for safe keeping! 

After hours of playing awesome games with those parachutes and rubber balls, they had us line our sweaty little selves up in front of the assistants.  We were all still laughing and feeling very high from such great excitement, and I forgot all about the situation in my drawers!  Still buzzing, I reached the assistant manning the treat table.  "Where's your money, Sweetie?", she asked.

I froze.

Something happens to me when I freeze like that.  I never did buy into the whole right-off-like-a-BandAid theory.  Never was one to just jump in the cold water.  No, no.  I always liked to drag out an uncomfortable moment.  So, instead of just pulling out that cursed hanky, I ever so agonizingly slowly reached down into my no pocket pants, into my big girls, and reached the very tiny corner of my grandmother's handkerchief.  All the while, I was looking at this nice young teacher's assistant with the sad, sad eyes of a basset hound.  And slowly, slowly tugged on the handkerchief.  And she looked on in absolute horror as this crazed, perverted little clown pulled a string of colorful silk scarves out of her crotch.

(Insert calliope circus music here.)

 

And that's why I prefer pockets.