And it all starts with pockets
Mr T and I walked to the farmers market this morning. He was kind of surprised when I disappeared for a second between the olive oil store and the French bistro. Yes, our neighborhood has gotten a bit chi-chi since we moved here. Not complaining, though.
It wasn’t the jazz trio that was driving me away, although that would have been enough (YES! I WILL SAY IT OUT LOUD! I HATE JAZZ!).
It was a bathroom.
Mr T: Where were you?
Me: The bathroom!
Mr T: There’s a bathroom there?
Mr T: Do you know where all the bathrooms are?
Me: Yes. Duh.
Mr T: Is that a woman thing?
On our way into the library, where he has to re-arrange the tomatoes from the market to find my phone and library card, which are at the bottom of the bag, he teases me, “Why don’t you just put them in your pocket?”
Me, merrily: Hahahahahaha!
I spy a woman wearing painter’s pants.
Me: You have pockets!
Me: Those are great!
Mr T: See? She has pockets.
Me: Be quiet, patriarchy.
Woman: And look! It has a hook for a hammer!
Me: Which is cool!
Woman: They are functional!
Mr T: See? You could have those pants and then you would have pockets!
Me: Hush, Patriarchy.
Woman: Many women, however, would not want a hook like this.
Me: I would. What if I wanted to carry a hammer? I would be able to!
Woman: You know what, though? These are men’s pants.
Me: Of course. THEY HAVE POCKETS.
Women: They were $25. If they designed them for women, they would cost $89.
Me: As well they should. Our bodies are different, after all, and it’s more expensive to design for them.