Archaeological Pockets

When my kids were little, I could trace their entire day in what they spilled on their clothing.
Or from what came out of their pockets.
Now to today's story.

A couple of things first . . .

I’ve taken to wearing what my grandkids call, ‘Grandma pants’. Elastic waist. Stretchy.

Comfortable.

There is one drawback.

They have no pockets.

None.

And I’ve looked.

So, inventive person that I am, I’ve also taken to wearing a vest.

That does have pockets.

Maybe not the most fashionable Grandma out there.

But certainly one of the most comfortable. And stocked, rather than stacked.

And that brings me to today . . .

It was time to throw today’s vest (and pants, etc.) into the laundry.

First is the ceremony of the ‘emptying-of-the-aforementioned-pockets’.

I laid the items out on the cupboard, ready for re-insertion into my clean vest.

I looked at said items.

And realized they say a lot about me.

First, the pen. As an author, one never knows when one will have to sign something. Preferably one’s books. Thus, I am never without a pen. You’ll notice it is a particular type. My personal favourite.

Next, the safety pin. We just finished a theatrical production imaginatively named, The Toy Box. As general odd-job person behind the production, I always found myself in need of safety pins. One never knows when a soldier, Barbie, Clown or stuffie might need a quick fixer-upper. The pin has simply not been removed. Yet. Perhaps in time for next year’s production . . .

Nail file. With the dry weather, my aged nails are constantly chipping, cracking or breaking. No more explanation needed.

Flosser and toothpick. Aged teeth seem to collect half of what I eat. True story.

Playmobile Lamp and Lego dot. In my household, one plays with Playmobile or Lego out of self-defence. One must always be prepared.

Missing: The used Kleenex. It was pretty self-explanatory anyways. And besides: Ewww.

So there you have it. The story behind the contents of my pockets.

So what do your pockets say about you?