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Pockets Full of Stuff
A quid pro quo
“Well, you know what time of the year it is, Dear?” asked Ben.
Sara said, “Right, moving time.”
“Sure, I guess that answer works but I’m thinking about the micropicture here.”
Sara stopped eating and squinted.
“Micropicture?” she whispered. “What?”
“Micropicture. The little things. I thought I explained my thinking on this. Yes, it’s time to move, and this time to a far away place. But getting there during the move is the challenge.”
“On moving day I know not to put anything important in my pockets because they’ll be filled by the time we get in the truck and start driving.”
“Filled with what?”
“Eh, you’re a girl. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Humor me, Ben.”
“Along the way during moving day – hey, I’m a poet and don’t know it – on moving day, I pick up things and am usually too far from a bag or garbage can to put it in so I load up my pockets. Nails, bolts, coins, stray paper. Had some tacks in there once. About stabbed myself when I got into the truck. By then, everything in the house has to go, everything, so I just snatch it up and sort it later.”
“Hmm. I never realized moving was such an ordeal like that for you.”
“Meh, it’s not an ordeal, just something I have to gear up for. Know what I need though? A pair of pants with deeper pockets so I can keep stuffing them without emptying them.”
“What’s it take to empty them?” Sara asked.
“It’s not as easy as that. With each item, you have to sort them out. Garbage. Keeper. Possible garbage. Possible keeper. Give it away to someone or donate it. A whole lot of emotional energy going on.”
“I see that,” said Sara. “I’ll get you a pair that has only pockets in them. Sound good?”
“How could I have been so lucky to marry someone like you, Honey?”
“Oh, I dunno. Speaking of lucky,” Sara said. “St. Patrick’s Day is coming up and I need a new dress. A green one maybe. I’ll pick one up when I go get your new pants. Thanks for reminding me to get out of the house and splurge on myself! You’re such a great husband.”