I needed new pajama pants that I could be seen in public in. My definition of pajama pants I can be seen in public in means no flowers. No girlie stuff. When I’m buying PJs, I’m always thinking, “okay, what if the house burned down, I’m in the street, all the neighbors have come out of their houses, what am I wearing and am I embarrassed?” (In my imagination, the kids are with me and safe.)
So there I am, the day before we leave for family camp and I’m out of time. I’m at Costco buying car snacks for the trip to camp and this is my last chance for PJ pants without holes in them.
All they have in the ladies section was hideous pink something, probably with florals, or God forbid, plaid. I head over to the men’s section and get a pair of gray sporty pants that are too long, but at least they’re not floral.
We go on the camping trip and guess what? These pants have pockets! Not just any pockets, but GIANT pockets. I can put a tube of toothpaste and my toothbrush in these pockets (to walk up to the camp bathroom) and ZIP THEM UP. Yeah, they’ve got ZIPPERS! Men don’t tell you they’ve got giant pockets. I think they don’t know that we don’t.
I love these pants so much, I have them professionally hemmed. I wear them during the day, when I am not supposed to because, my God, have some decency, get dressed! But those pockets! I can put my phone in one and zip it up and not worry about my phone falling out of my tiny, inadequate girlie pockets.
I can put my point and shoot camera in the OTHER pocket. I am in love. I ask my husband why he never told me men’s pajama pants were so awesome. He feigns innocence.
I also have a son. He has boy clothes. He’s got this pair of cargo shorts and they’ve got pockets all over the place—front, back, sides. One of the pockets, get this, HAS A POCKET on it. It’s just big enough to hold a single quarter. I’m not sure what you’re supposed to do with it, but the injustice of it! He’s got pockets to spare and I’ve got none.
My son’s new rain coat has a giant pocket on the back. On the back! What’s it for? I don’t even know. It’s big enough to hold an iPad. Or a notebook.
When I get dressed up, I have to give all my stuff to my husband. I give him my license and credit card, whatever I need, to put in his wallet. I tell him, I’m not taking my keys.
I get a dinky little bag to put lip stick in. I go from being an independent woman who carries everything she needs on her person, with no purse, to a helpless lil’ thing completely dependent on her man.
I have these capri pants—well, they’re supposed to be capri pants, but on me they just sort of look like floods. But they’ve got a cell phone pocket on the thigh. I love this cell phone pocket so much that I don’t want to give them up. I keep wearing the capris deep into fall, even though this means I can’t wear my favorite clogs, because I can’t wear those with capris.
Finally, I call my friend who makes custom clothes and ask her, can you add a cell phone pocket to my favorite jeans? Of course she can. She adds a custom pocket to my jeans and I am a happy, happy woman.
I no longer have to take my phone out of my front pocket every time I get in the car, and set it down in the car, where I invariably forget it the next time I get out of the car.
I can answer the phone before it stops ringing, as I don’t have to struggle to dig the phone out of my front pocket, I just reach down to the side of my leg and slide the phone out.
I excitedly show my phone pocket to every cashier and bagger I encounter. Every friend I meet for coffee has to admire the pocket. Because it’s awesome. It’s life changing. It’s practical.
And I shouldn’t have to pay extra to get this basic thing that allows me to carry the stuff I need every day.
My husband’s a good height, not a giant guy. One day we were all heading out on a family outing, and he takes his travel coffee mug, you know, one of those huge, won’t leak mugs? I think it holds 20 ounces or more, it’s gigantic. He takes this mug and he PUTS IT IN HIS POCKET. Just puts it in his pants pocket and off he goes. And for the record, they weren’t cargo pants. They were just regular pants. Man pants!
That’s the back story! I’ll have more photos and more stories of pockets in the future. Turns out I’m not the only one who feels this way about pockets! I’ll share links to those people in the future.
Find Dulce Rodriguez at DMR Foto.