There are at least three jackets hanging in my closet with the pockets still sewn shut. Manufacturers must be appalled to think that we might destroy their carefully designed line with tissue, transfers and keys.
In the last few years, they've gone beyond sewing up pockets - they've eliminated them entirely, especially in pants.
They are determined that the female of the species cannot be trusted to maintain that lovely, sleek line that the manufacturer has made fashionable and the customer has paid rather ridiculous amounts for.
The manufacturer is right, of course, and I am ready to put a curse on her for it.
Once I pay for a garment, I should be able to do what I like with it, but no. Pockets are not there to be unstitched and ready to serve as a receptacle for various necessities. Pockets aren't there at all.
I even have a pair of jeans without pockets What would a down-to-earth, genuine cowgirl say about that?
This is making my life quite unbearable, especially as I do like the smooth front of my no-pockets pants.
What am I to do with all those notes, phone numbers, addresses, keys, tissues and lipstick that are life's essentials?
Where to put...?
Before I fall asleep at night, I usually plan what I am to wear the next day due to those years of having to get up and out at dawn in a half-awake stupor. I still wake up not having to think about what to wear as I stagger toward the shower.
Today, as I had my cup of coffee, I noticed the memo on the refrigerator reminding me to pick up the cleaning. I removed it and put it in my pocket, only to discover there wasn't a pocket there.
I'd selected that pair.
I looked at the note. I felt where the pocket should be, hoping I'd felt wrong the first time, only to realize that I hadn't.
I puzzled over what to do next.
Should I change my pants? That meant changing my top as well, and that sounded overpowering when I'd just managed to put the outfit on.
Should I put on a pocketed sweater, although the temperature was on the way up?
Should I put the note in my purse and lose it forever?
Could I live without the cleaning until tomorrow if I fail to remember it without the reminder?
Or should I crawl back into bed and have a good cry?
The need for pockets
I need pockets, almost to the point of desperation.
I need them for the bits of lint and scraps of paper that I notice on the rug and later put into the wastebasket (if I remember).
I need pockets for the tissue that will go with the pocket into the washing machine, where it will become little tissues and escape to cover almost everything that is washed with it.
I need it for keys so I don't have to try to locate them in the depths of my purse, and for change, and now and then for an interesting stone or leaf I've found in my wanderings.
Most importantly, there's no place to put my hands. Rain, frost or sun, I must have a place to put my hands.
Yet pocketless pants are in, and I must be in, mustn't I? I have given this a great deal of thought over the last week. Most styles that are in I suffered through several decades ago.
Looking at them, I question my madness that drove me to be enticed by 4-inch heels, miniskirts, bare midriffs, necklines that reach to the waist, a new sure-fire diet and music that made my parents nervous.
But wisdom, as they say, comes with age, and I certainly should have enough age to live with pocketless pants.
Madison Park's Roberta Cole can be reached via e-mail at mptimes@ nwlink.com.