The Peril of Pockets

Every morning, I stuff the same things in the four pockets of my slacks and in the vest pocket of my shirt. Every evening, when I get home from work, I unload these things – putting them in the same spot – on the desk of my home office. Next morning, the stuff is there — pocket-ready.  Over the years of shoving a wallet in my back left pocket, the fabric on some of my pants has become worn.  And faded.  In fact, on a few of my pants, the faint outline of the words “Prince Gardner” can be seen.  My back right pocket bears the faded outline of a scrambled set of keys.  

Last week, I tossed some dirty clothes down the laundry chute to the basement.  The chute is in a closet that also serves as a repository for clothes destined for donation to a local church.  As I tossed the clothes down the chute, I noticed – there on top of some old t-shirts was my favorite pair of dark blue Bonobo slacks with the white outline of a wallet on the back pocket.  I picked them up, shook them off, and decided to put them on.  I asked Donna why my Bonobos were in the closet.  “I put them there.  You can’t wear those.  Look at them.”  I looked.  They appeared brand new to me.  The outline of a wallet and scrambled keys added character.   

Later, I went down to the kitchen and told Donna that there were a couple of her outfits that appeared worn so I’d placed in the closet for donation to the church.  I got the “look.”  “That is very different” she said.  The emphatic “very” signaled that I was on very thin ice.  I think I know now what happened to my black jeans, my ripped chinos, my “I’m the Boss” sweatshirt and my green bib overalls. . . .  

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