In my former more ... executive ... life, I frequently complained that business clothes for women, suits in particular, didn't have enough or large enough pockets, and being a boyish kind of girlie, I thought I should be able to do without a handbag. I was a smoker back then, so I needed to conceal about my slim, girlish person various articles, including the cancer sticks themselves (two packs of Marlborough Lights a day, oh yes), a zippo lighter, and an assortment of mints so that I could fool myself that I didn't stink like an ashtray.
Now that I'm a Mama (and the figure isn't so slim and girlish any more), my wardrobe is full of very capacious pockets, and I sometimes wish I didn't have so many. Actually, I wish I didn't have any pockets at all. As I scoot around the house, doing nothing more, it seems to me, than endlessly moving objects from one place to another, I tend to fill those many pockets with small items that need to go somewhere else.
It's a good system.
Instead of placing said objects in the right places as I go, I most often forget that they're there and I end up with an eclectic, varied and sometimes scary - no, sticky - mix of objects jangling around.
I have just now emptied my many pockets onto the kitchen table, and this is what I found :
-- one glass marble, green-and-red (wrenched from a child's mouth, perhaps only seconds before she swallowed it)
-- one grey plastic mammoth (provenance unknown, likely to have been half-inched from the kindergarten)
-- two screws, one large-ish, one small-ish (picked up from the floor before they could impale a barefoot child)
-- one large rubber band, broken (wrenched from a child's mouth, perhaps only seconds before he choked on it)
-- 91 cents in very small change - in case I get a shot at an espresso-at-the-bar one of these days
-- one brown velvet scrunch, pulled out of the sink overflow
-- one grubby white balloon, deflated
-- one ear plug, used
-- two maggoty, fire-blackened chestnuts
-- one small ball of miscellaneous fluff, blue (perhaps not so miscellaneous after all)
-- one white tissue, unused
-- one whitish tissue, used
-- a handful of diced parmesan rind (peace offering that never made it to the irascible cockerel)
-- one 5ml medicine spoon, sticky
-- one tube of titanium-based nappy-rash ointment, punctured by toddler teeth, oozing
-- one scrunched-up photo of Mama 20 years ago, slim and stylish in a Jean Muir suit, to remind her how it felt to have no pockets, but ridiculously enormous shoulder pads.
Now, if you empty your pockets, what would you find?
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.