I never wear pants.

I don't mean to say I run around bottomless all the time (however, going commando does happen occasionally) but that I always wear skirts or dresses with leggings. The only pants I ever wear are my "laundry pants" —the pants I don when I do laundry and consequently, the only piece of clothing I own that never gets washed.

These pants, made of wonderfully white stretchy cotton, are flamboyantly garnished with festive palm trees and beach houses and insist on sitting a few inches above my belly button. A novelty you'll find nowhere else, these laundry pants aren't quite long enough to be real pants or short enough to be capris, which leads me to believe they're made for short grandmothers who need some extra space for Depends.

Some of you might find it repulsive that I never wash these pants. To you, I say — touche. I won't deny that it's gross, and I'll admit that the pants are decidedly one of my most shameful secrets. But as a college girl who has to pay $1 in quarters every time I wash a load of clothes and $2 in quarters every time I dry them, I have to be picky when I choose what needs to be washed and what can wait another week. This is also the reason why most of my clothes get washed in the same load, my blacks, whites, and colors all meshing together so it looks like someone vomited in the washing machine. It's not classy or recommended by anyone who even remotely knows how to do laundry, but as someone who can't afford to spend more than $3 each week on laundry, it gets me by.

Laundry isn't the only hidden fee of growing up — parking meters and fees also devastate my bank account on a weekly basis. I live in a quaint apartment downtown that has a location I love and a view I adore, but it provides no parking for its residents. This means that if I want to park conveniently in front of my apartment complex (rather than blocks away in a free-parking area), I better be ready to cough up at least $2 in quarters to park for just a few hours. I know I'm not the only one with this affliction — if anyone ever needs to park outside any dorm hall on campus, well, that pour soul had better be prepared to pay a lot more than just $2.

Thankfully, my roommate and I share a piggybank (a used container of Greek honey yogurt) that we fill with quarters every month. We use these quarters not only for laundry and parking, but also for rides on the city bus, pinochle night at the senior center, antes on a dice game at The Rhino, PBR on Friday nights and cookies at The Market. Even though these parts of my life seem like luxuries and perhaps not the best use of my laundry money, I can honestly say that if I eliminated these features of my life, I would feel hopelessly incomplete.

There are a lot of things about entering adulthood that I'm having a difficult time coming to terms with — hidden fees being the most perturbing. But it's nice to know that most of my troubles can be averted with just a few coins. It keeps life in perspective — even in the midst of grown-up stresses and real-life catastrophes, perhaps all we need is that delicate, familiar jingling in our pockets to get us by and we'll be just fine.

rebecca.spika@umontana.edu