August 19th, 2008

Pocketful of Something

Under normal circumstances, I prefer to take responsibility for the things that happen to me. However, today I would like to blame the manufacturers of women’s pants. Or maybe cultural pressure. Or my mother. Something like that.

Here’s what happened: I dropped my cell phone in the toilet. (For those of you of more curiosity than sense, I will add that there was nothing in the bowl but water until I added the cell phone.) This is the second time I’ve had this problem and it comes from the inadequate pockets on my pants.

Most of the time I wear jeans. I like jeans. But yesterday my jeans got covered in wood chips from the playground and macaroni and cheese. I changed my clothes to go to my writers’ group and then to a barbecue where I would meet people who don’t know that I’m a slob. I put on girl pants.

Readers of David Sedaris may recall his adventure in girl pants. His involved a zipper up the back and a urinal. My girl pants zip up the side. As a result, they do not have front pockets. Because girls, on the whole, prefer not to look bulky (as Anne Lamott would say), there are few pockets of any kind on girl clothes. My pants do have two back pockets. They were both sewn shut when I bought the pants, but I ripped the stitching out of the right cheek pocket so I could at least stick a pen and some cash in there.

I needed to keep my cell phone with my body in case of a toddler emergency, since I had the pleasure of Mookie’s company all day. I shoved the phone into this completely inadequate and shallow pocket. When nature called, the pocket failed, ejecting its contents in a very un-pocket-like manner.

The phone still makes incomprehensible noises. I can’t see anything on its stubbornly blank screen. It is depressing.

So. Next time I buy pants, I need to ignore the mirror and the voice of my mom in my head reminding me that I’m not as skinny as I used to be. I need to remember that I’d rather be useful than cute (not that I’d mind being cute, too, but priorities, priorities!).

And if I end up wearing jeans all the time, it won’t be my fault.