Have you ever found yourself wondering what the tiny pocket-within-a-pocket is for on your jeans? You know the one I’m talking about; that small, seemingly useless space that doesn’t appear large enough to hold anything.
If you’ve ever tried to see what fits in there, you’ll know it’s far too small for a cellphone, while it’s awkward to jam cash – be it coins or notes – in there. The same goes for a ring of keys; there just isn’t room.
So what are those little pockets for? Well, fortunately for our curious readers, we have something of an answer… and it might not be at all what you were expecting.
Be they male or female models, chances are if you look at a pair of jeans, you’ll find two pockets on the front and two pockets on the back. What you might also find, however, is a strange little pocket inside one of the front pockets.
Go ahead and have a look. Almost all jeans have them, though their presence is enough to leave most of us scratching our heads.
As mentioned above, these pockets are far too small to hold anything of real significance (even getting two fingers into them is a challenge). So what purpose do they actually serve?
Interestingly, to find the origin we have to go back almost two hundred years. That little thumbnail-sized pocket isn’t a modern addition to jeans; instead, it was a practical solution for something that’s no longer a real problem today.
Behind the invention is none other than legendary jean manufacturer Levi’s.
According to UK newspaper The Independent, the first ‘extra’ pocket came into use in the 1800s. The reason? To assist the most common wearers of jeans at that point in time… cowboys.
Cowboys usually carried their pocket watches on chains or inside their waistcoats, but both of these methods put the watch at great risk of being broken during their owner’s day-to-day duties.
In order to combat this, Levi’s introduced a small pocket designed to carry a watch safely. By keeping their watches in these tiny pockets, cowboys could ride without fear of them being smashed on a ride.
How’s that for innovation?
If I’m honest, I had no idea. If you ask me, it’s incredible that the design has stuck with jeans all the way through to modern day. Cowboys might no longer be around, but their watch pockets certainly are!
My husband threw all my paintings away. I decided to give him a real lesson now
When I discovered Tim had thrown away my paintings, it felt like a piece of my soul had been ripped away. Each stroke of paint, each color combination, each image on the canvas represented hours of joy, frustration, and fulfillment. But to him, they were nothing but “junk.”
A Moment of Realization
That evening, exhausted from work, I decided to revisit an old painting that I believed had more potential. The idea of reworking it filled me with a rare excitement. However, my anticipation turned to horror when I descended into the basement, only to find it empty. The walls were bare, the shelves clean, and my paintings—gone. I stood there in shock, a cold sense of loss washing over me. How could he do this? How could he erase a part of my life so carelessly?
Confrontation and Anger
I stormed upstairs, fury bubbling inside me. There he was, lounging on the couch, engrossed in a football game, a bag of chips in hand. “Tim! Where are my f***ing paintings?” I demanded, my voice shaking with rage.
He glanced at me nonchalantly and said, “Oh, honey, relax. You should be thanking me for taking out that junk.”
For Illustrative purpose only
His dismissive attitude was the final straw. I exploded in anger, yelling at him, but he remained unbothered, barely acknowledging my distress. It was clear he didn’t understand or care about the pain he’d caused.
The Plan for Revenge
As I stood there, seething, a plan began to form in my mind. If he could so casually discard something that meant so much to me, then he deserved a taste of his own medicine. I decided to retaliate in a way that would hit him where it hurt the most.
For Illustrative purpose only
The next day, I waited until Tim left for work. Fueled by a sense of righteous indignation, I methodically gathered all his cherished belongings—his prized football memorabilia, his vintage record collection, even his favorite recliner. I loaded everything into the back of my car and drove to the nearest charity shop. Watching the workers unload his precious items, I felt a twisted sense of satisfaction. Let’s see how he likes it, I thought.
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