Deep Pockets

by Patti


I was cuddling with S on the couch the other day, trying to hug her through that damned Columbia jacket that she has worn so much, I vow to snatch it from her while she sleeps and burn it into obliteration.

Anyway.

So I'm cuddling with the kid when I feel this... lump. "What is that?" I asked her, rubbing my hip.
"My pocket.'
"Your pocket?"
"Yeah, my pocket."

I shoved my hand curiously into her pocket, and fished out a box of Tic Tacs. And a rubber ball. And some change. And chapstick. And some Fun Dip candy. And wadded up gum wrappers.
"Seriously, honey? Don't you think you need to clean out your pocket?"
"Try my other pocket!" She flipped over, delighted.

So I shoved my hand into her other pocket, this time a bit more cautiously, afraid I was going to find our dog in there. Nope, not our dog. But I did find her inhaler, another rubber ball (???), more wadded up paper, her school I.D. card, Kleenex, cough drops, house keys - which, you should know, are secured to a long, wide ribbon, and that ribbon was artfully bunched up so that it fit neatly into her pocket-o-junk....
I was actually impressed by the expertise with which all of the crap that S managed to contain in those pockets of hers was contained. And the pockets? Aren't even that big. Yet, like the magician's sleeve from which he pulls 598,402,542 scarves, I kept pulling stuff out of those pockets.  Worried for her BACK with all that extra weight she was lugging around, I forced her to clean out her pockets, and then continued the cuddlefest.

This weekend M was doing laundry and happened upon that same Columbia jacket. "This feels so heavy. Is there something in the pockets?"
"There was; she emptied the pockets the other day." As we talked, I folded clothes on the pool table/ laundry folding table/place to leave piles of clothes that we are too lazy to put away forget to put away.
I heard a jangly, clankity sound, and looked up to find M shaking out S's jacket over the table. Out tumbled her inhaler, her house keys, some change, four throat lozenges, wadded up Kleenex, a pencil, a pencil sharpener, her school I.D. card, five hair rubber bands, two rings,and a pack of Hubba Bubba.
"She did?"

I swear, S's pockets are like lizard tails: they regenerate. Except for in lieu of a scaly tail, her pockets regenerate the $5 and under aisle at Walgreen's. Maybe it's a good thing her Columbia has small pockets. A different, less annoying jacket might have deeper pockets, and the Universe's things cannot afford to be swallowed up any more whole than they already are by S's pockets.