Thursday, March 15, 2012

The chief of hankers


"I am going to blow my schnoze into this thing and then I am going to put it back into my pocket and then I am going to blow my schnoze into it again later."


This is the general thesis of the handkerchief-owner. Isn’t that amazing? I find it amazing.

I have had a bloody nose for the past three months because moisture levels in the atmosphere here are at a record low negative 30 percent, and I have found myself frequently imagining what I would do were I forced to resolve this matter via handkerchief. My conclusion is that I would not do that because that is disgusting.

I have always marveled at the ol’ hanky, mostly because of the paradox between its utter crudeness and how it also manages to represent some formal and high-status means of emergency nose-maintenance. Congratulations on your wedding! I have dressed properly for the occasion by exposing my handkerchief, see? Should my nose run, I will use this to wipe away the boogies. Oh my, I do apologize! I speaketh as though my four year-old is present! What I meant to say was boogers. Anyway, you look beautiful …

I will use almost anything to resolve a runny nose. Tissues, paper towels, a leaf, toilet paper. But the thing is, after I do this, I will throw that thing away. I will not store it on my person for future use. There are, to my knowledge, no other bodily orifices by which the means to remove stuff from are deemed reusable. Oh, what's that? That my Q-tipchief. It's like a butt-hanky for my ears. I mean, I love the environment and all, but c’mon.

I still haven't even figured out what happens to the full hanky. Where does it go ... the washing machine? I would prefer if your nasty hanky did not touch my underwear, thank you very much. And I am talking to myself when I say that. And that snot doesn't just disappear in the wash, right? Doesn't it just get mixed around to the point of invisibility and spread onto other apparel? I admit I don't have a great understanding of how washing machines actually work. Nevertheless.

Have you ever seen someone blow his nose in a handkerchief—and I mean go to town on it—and then shove it back into his pocket? Sure you have. What is your immediate thought? Mine is: I am never going to touch that person, ever. Not that the possibility of touching a nose-blowing stranger is always prevalent, but I do see a lot of nose-blowing in church, and people there are always trying to physically wish peace upon each other.

So, in conclusion, handkerchiefs are nasty and I cannot believe that they once existed and also continue to exist. Thank you for your time and attention.

5 comments:

Cory said...

My step dad uses these infernal ebola rags. Crap, they are nasty.

mkenny59 said...

Cory, I should have consulted with you first, based on your experience and also because "infernal ebola rags" is better than anything written here.

Dr Prof Brilliant said...

When you're in church, and you blow your nose into a tissue, do you put the tissue into your pocket, or do you just leave it in the pew?

mkenny59 said...

Dr Prof, the church example was admittedly a weak one for the very reason you provide, something I realized but let stand anyway. To answer your question though, I usually ask Women's Lib if she has a tissue, to which she rolls her eyes and says no, so I pull a napkin from my pocket, blow my nose, ask Women's Lib to "do something with this," to which she rolls her eyes again, so I put it in my back pocket so I won't have to touch it anymore, but forget it's there, and so it ends up going in the wash by accident, and little pieces of snot napkin get everywhere.

I realize this example runs in conflict to my overall point, but I wanted to be honest. I think I've made my point.

Dr. Prof. Brilliant said...

As an usher myself, how I feel for my compatriots at the Church of the Innocent Handholding who must don hazmat suits in 110 degree weather because Booger McBoogerson is so offended by dirty handkerchiefs that he once again decides to leave his calling card in pew 17.