What is it with pockets?

As a child, I can hardly remember any pair of pants that didn’t have pockets, somewhat to my mother’s dismay as she was often afraid to search mine before doing laundry, with the strong possibility that some of my little bug friends might still be in there.

Dresses, which we were required to wear to school rarely had them, and I could barely wait to get out of them after school and into more practical attire (things that would accommodate my little friends and other treasures to be found out in the world.) As an aging adult I seek out skirts and dresses that have pockets. I am my own worst offender when it comes to laundering garments that still have a tissue in the pocket that I missed during pre-laundry inspection, only to be picking lint off the clothes between wash and dry.

There is, however, a disturbing current trend in women’s clothing. Many pants appear to have back pockets, which look nice as they break up the apparent width of the buns they are covering, yet some of them are ‘faux’ pockets that are purely for appearances. Okay, don’t use the back pockets very often unless the front pockets are inadequate for holding my cell phone. We’ll get back to that.

My husband says, “You have a purse, why do you need pockets?” half in jest, because I’ve laid out the answers often enough. I don’t carry a purse to mow the yard, or walk the dog, or carry the laundry from the top floor to the basement, etc. I do carry the phone, not because I’m married to contact with the outside world, but because 1.) I lose it if I lay it down somewhere, 2.) I no longer wish to run for a ringing phone, and 3.) I have an app that measures the distance I walk each day. As an aging adult (I am now 71, and still don’t know how that happened) it seems important to know that I’m getting a certain level of activity. I’ve found I can log two miles mowing or grocery shopping. Impressive, no?

Finding the right combination of comfort and function means I’m quite particular when it comes to pants. I’ve always been shaped like a woman — small waist, large hips and short legs. Built like a breeder (I’ve had three children.) Pants made to fit Barbie doll teens simply will not work for me. I was so delighted to find Gloria Vanderbilt jeans that hugged my curves and accommodated my child-bearing hips. Saved at last! But my elation was not to be consistent.

The day I sat down on the toilet for a brief moment of relief, did my thing then stood to pull up my jeans, the a fore mentioned cell phone fell right out of my front pocket strait into the toilet. Thinking of the five second rule, I rapidly scooped it out and tried to dry it off as quickly as possible, pondering how warm my bladder contents had made the water in the bowl. At this point I am freaked out, grossed out, and worried as hell. I popped the cover off and cleaned it thoroughly, wiped the phone and sprayed alcohol on a rag to clean it. Five second rule ruled! The only disruption was moisture in the charging port, which a tissue wrapped toothpick eliminated.

Phone saved, but my appreciation for the well fitting jeans was destroyed by the wimpy little pockets. Gloria Vanderbilt had let me down.