Dear Prefair Military Surplus,
This utility vest I bought? I’m wearing it right now. I’ve worn it six days straight, and I won’t be stopping anytime soon. That’s how good it is. I wanted you to know.
Some people wear their vests over their shirts. Not me. I hate shirts. But I love pockets. That’s why your vest is so perfect. I’ve got things to carry. Lots of things. I’ve got matches. I’ve got band-aids. I’ve got a Swiss army knife.
That knife? It’s a good thing. Almost as good as your vest. Without it, I’d be carrying a whittling blade, a fork, a spoon, scissors, tweezers, a compass, a bottle-opener and a friggin’ corkscrew. You know how many pockets I would need? But the thing is, your vest could still handle it. Your vest would do just fine if I didn’t have that knife.
I keep my cigarettes in the top right pocket. You know what I keep behind them? Another pack of cigarettes. These pockets have depth.
I have a pocket for fishing tackle. Bottom right. Above it, that’s where I keep my socks. I mostly don’t wear socks, but sometimes you need them. The bottom left is for dried, salted meats.
What I’m saying is I have stuff to carry around. Pants pockets? Not good enough. I can fill them up, but then I can’t sit down. Your vest, straps stretched across the front of my bare belly, giving me maximum skin exposure and carrying space, that’s what heaven is to me.
I’ve got a pocket for insulin. Packed full of needles. I don’t need the stuff, but if I run into someone who does, they’re in good hands. Your vest might save a life one day. Might save it fourteen times.
I’ve got a pet rat. I can’t leave her at home. She gets lonely. She’s scared of solitude. Guess where she lives now? She’s got her own little condo right here inside the best garment I’ve ever worn.
Listen, I hate shirts. I said that already, but it’s true. Vests? I hate them too. Mostly. But with all this cargo, it’s a good compromise. Until I find a doctor who will just suck up their Hippocratic Oath bullcrap and just sew a few skin-pockets in me, this is my only solution.
My sister doesn’t like that idea. Carry a rat in a skin-pocket, she says, and you’ll never meet a woman. But a woman who doesn’t see the convenience of a sack stitched into your free-breathing belly? That’s not a woman I care to meet. I tell you what though, if I ever meet a woman wearing your vest, I’ll slip my fingers into those pockets, pull her in close and never let her leave my side. I mean that in a romantic way, if you can’t tell. Nothing weird.
Anyway, the point being, your vest? Good vest. Thanks.