The Horrifying Truth Inside the Pocket

Maybe it's a blog...what is a blog? If I had a blog maybe I'd keep it in my pocket. I actually hate keeping things in my pocket. I get nervous when I have anything in my pocket for too long. Once I had a little plastic baggy of Reese's Pieces in my pocket and I forgot about them. Later in the day I remembered they were there and they'd all melted together to make a warm and delicious Reese's Pieces gooey treat but surprisingly that hasn't made it any less nerve-racking for me to leave things in my pocket. I think this (probably) irrational fear of little pocket things comes from my days of baby sitting my cousins. I'd do their laundry sometimes and was always shocked and disgusted by the things I'd find in my 10 year old cousin's pockets. I had to stick my fingers in there before throwing his jeans in the wash and pull it all out...dirt, lint, rocks, chewed candy, little toys that should have been thrown away years ago...you name it, he kept it in his pocket. I refused to clean out those grubby bio-hazard little pockets one day and boy did I regret it! Everything that started the cycle in his pockets finished the cycle all over the washer, and all over the other children's laundry...I still shudder thinking about it. I equated disgusting pockets with ten year old children. I thought it was something that was grown out of, like old shoes, or favorite baby blankets, but I was wrong. Thoughts of little pocket things were far from my mind when I started washing my husband's laundry...and then I was reminded. So I've discovered that some people (male-people particularly) never grow out of leaving crap in their pockets. So if you're still trying to guess what's in my pocket, you can stop. I can almost 100% guarantee you that at any given point in the day I won't have anything in my pocket...nothing at all...