It's Got Pockets!

(Finally)

In the dark ages of my youth, I had certain stringent requirements for clothing.

It had to be stylish, ideally a little unique. It had to be flattering, and cover (what in retrospect was) my tiny belly. It couldn’t be yellow. (I was convinced that my brand of dishwater blonde looked sickly with lemony shades.)

I operated with the uneasy feeling that I might one day appear in Glamour’s famous “Don’ts” photos. (Even though I lived nowhere near New York City, which is where their photographers snapped those anonymous, damning shots.)

Nowadays? I will pretty much wear any old thing. A muumuu. A cloak. If it has no tags, a loose waistband, and forgiving fabric, I’m ok with it.

But the pièce de résistance? The one thing that softens my heart, that makes me sigh and swoon and say “Sold!” on the spot?

Pockets.

Oh, yes, you know what I’m talking about. At least my female readers do. The thing (admittedly one of the smaller things) that women have been denied for decades. It’s like someone, way back whenever pockets in men’s clothing became popular, had a conversation that went something like this.