As promised, I’m lightening up the subject matter this week!
Today’s beverage: coffeeeeee
Update: no beverage. Sorry folks, I started this over a week ago, but so much has happened that this here little post got set on the back burner.
Things have been cray cray to say the least
Housing offer accepted…check
GOT FRIGGIN ENGAGED!!…check
But I promised you all a post about pockets, and that’s what you’re gonna get.
So, back to the task at hand…
Alright ladies, say it with me… “It haaaasssss pockets!”
We’ve all said it, followed by immediately placing hands in said pockets and twirling. Do men do this? No, men are just like oh hey… pants.
Don’t even get me started on the absolute heartbreak that is fake pockets. And before you ask, no I don’t mean the pockets in fancy clothes where you need a seam ripper to open them. I’m talking 100% fake, aesthetic pockets. All the exterior stitch work with none of the interior practicality. Beauty truly is only skin deep y’all.
Now before I dive in here, I am aware that no one is making me buy the clothes I buy. No one is forcing me to wear make-up and attempt to do things with my hair. But here we are.
Side note, I recently learned how to do French braid pigtails and I am flying high right now.
Now, I like to consider myself independent, but in a highly inconsistent and unpredictable way. So I guess actually I’m just stubborn. It’s real cute. Ask anyone. And I try to live by the rule my dad implemented when we were wee children: you stay home until you can carry your own snacks. If I’m going to make the effort to leave the house and venture out into the world, I’m going to be responsible for my own shit. Everything I need for the venture will be carried on my person. I do not enjoy asking people to carry my things for me. They’re mine.
This would be so much easier if any of my clothes served any sort of functional purpose whatsoever! Women’s clothing is a scam, it’s a racket I tell ya. Unless all I have is an old-timey pocket watch, I’m not going to carry all my belongings in my jeans. And the number of times I’ve been bamboozled by a fake jacket pocket has given me severe trust issues. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH MY HANDS?!
This brings me to my next point. To those of you at home saying to yourself, “why do women carry so much in their purses,” well first of all it’s none of your damn business . But if we are pretending that your opinion on my personal belongings matters, here’s the scoop. If I have to carry a whole ass bag with me, I might as well fill it!
Ever seen the episode of How I Met Your Mother where Marshall and his coworker show up to their first day of work with briefcases full of candy bars? Hi, I’m Brigid. Present and accounted for!
Besides, have you ever seen a guy in cargo pants? I mean do you neeeeed to carry that Swiss Army knife with you or your all-purpose tool? No probably not. Most of us rarely find ourselves in unexpected MacGuyver situations, but since you have 1,009 pockets, why not? Actually, while you’re at it, carry some tampons in there and help a girl out.
Next up let’s have a chat about running shorts. My fiancé (WHAT WHAT) goes for the occasional jaunt around the neighborhood, and his running shorts have pockets that could for sure fit a phone. My shorts on the other hand could for sure fit a quarter, which is useful if I also have a time machine to take me back to the early 2000s so I could find a pay phone. It’s ironic because everyone says that women should be carrying mace and weapons so we don’t get murdered, but we have to buy more accessories to accommodate them. Honestly, if we just make everywhere a safe space, that would be ideal, but I listen to a lot of true crime podcasts, so we know that’s not the case. Also, I don’t run with mace or pepper spray or whatever the legal version of it is because I would likely just spray myself in the face, doing the criminal’s job for them.
Basically this whole post is a pointless rant about form over function. Pointless, because I will not be changing really any of my buying habits. But sometimes it feels nice to just yell for a few minutes. If you’ve ever used the HBO app on a PlayStation, you may understand what I’m saying. You can yell at the app all you want when it inevitable crashes, but there’s still a lot of episodes of the Wire left, and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to see where McNulty’s questionable parenting tactics take him.
In conclusion, stayed tuned for next weekend’s newest installment of Brigid’s Stream of Consciousness.
Instead of my usual closing statement, I’ll leave you with this…
HAPPY PRIDE Y’ALL