Inherited Phenomenon

When I was little my grandmother would walk around with what seemed like an endless supply of tissues jammed in her pockets.

My mother began following this odd tradition and I thought the whole world had gone mad. I just couldn't grasp the reasoning behind keeping slightly used tissues stuffed in every nook and cranny of an outfit.

Doing laundry seemed the worst. I always neglected to check pockets which were inevitably holding some sort of treasure trove of tissue. These tissues would work their way out of the pocket and disintegrate just enough to coat every piece of clothing in tissue bits. Line-dried clothes do not dispose of their tissue bits well, so during the folding process I also had the duty of de-tissueing the clothing.

Back then I swore I'd never stuff tissues in my pockets, or I'd at least dispose of them once a trash receptacle was near. That plan worked briefly and I now find myself stuffing tissues in every jacket and pant pocket I own. It seems I no longer have to refill my pockets as they come pre-tissued. I've developed a fear of being trapped in public with no tissues within a five-mile radius. I think our noses enjoy witnessing the panic they bring upon our bodies.

I believe that each nose of a family decides early on whether it's going to be a runner, a stuffer, or just a regular no-nonsense-I'll-let-you-breath nose. My family's ancesteral nose was a runner from the get-go; I'm sure of this. I imagine my great-great-great grandmother ran around with handkerchiefs shoved up her sleeves, or resorted to using her skirts to sop up a misguided nose at an inconvenient time. While at family gatherings we pass around the tissue box, our noses mingle and rejoice in all the awkward moments they've thrust upon our beings. I suppose it's nice to know that some part of our bodies is having a good laugh.

I could sum up this little post with a "the nose knows best" saying, but I really must go grab a tissue.