To blow or not to blow; that is the question
I come from a long line of nose blowers and have been packing a cotton handkerchief in my right rear pocket for almost 50 years. On bad days, like the three-month cold I seem to have now, I stick a few spares in my coat. Same thing for allergy season. In a pinch I’ll use Kleenex, toilet paper or a paper towel, but they are flimsy and barely suitable for more than dabbing the schnozz. Mainly, they are never handy when you really, really need one.
It’s funny how many people scoff at us old-school, hankie packing, beak-honkers. Yet, they will stand in a crowd and snuffle and snorkel nose fluids until you are ready to throw up. You want to scream out “For goodness’ sake, woman, just blow the darned thing!”
Handkerchiefs in different forms have been around since before Christ, but only the ruling classes had them, and they were not considered suitable for blowing your nose in. They were dainty little fluttery things made of linen, handy for mopping the brow when the ladies had an attack of the vapors.
The first reference to a “cloth for cleaning one’s nose” was made around 300 AD. It may have become boorish by then to wipe your snout on the sleeve of your robe.
Its use progressed slowly until the 16th century, when the decorative handkerchief became an object of great importance to high society. It was just so cool to wave around a lacy bit of nothing when the time was ripe. And speaking of ripe, a perfumed hankie also worked great to protect you from the odor of the many unwashed.
The handkerchief inherited a new job in the 17th century when the snorting of tobacco snuff became the latest rage in Europe. It was just so gauche for the beautiful ladies to walk around displaying brown noses. handkerchiefs in the proper shade of brown saved the day, to the relief of many a ravaged but delicate nostril.
Handkerchiefs came in every shape in the book up to the 18th century, when Marie Antoinette goaded her husband the king into publishing a decree that they should all be square. He did so, and at least in France handkerchiefs all became as square as Mr. Rogers. This “square” campaign of Marie’s had nothing to do with her beheading in 1793.
In the 19th century, hankies became so indispensable that a courting custom of secret signals evolved that made it possible for chaperoned young folks to carry on a conversation across the room. A hankie across the lips meant, “I’m ready to make your acquaintance.” One down the check mean, “I love you!” A hankie held to the right cheek was “yes”, held to the left cheek meant “no” (I assume they were talking about the facial cheeks).
Drawing a hankie across the forehead signaled “we are being watched.” For the grand finale, one thrown over the shoulder was the come hither “follow me.” I kind of got that once myself, but if I remember right, it was a burrito wrapper instead of a handkerchief.
It is estimated that many people will blow their noses 45 times a day during the first three days of a cold (I call those 12 hankie days). Red winter noses are not all caused by the cold, and I could easily pass for Rudoph’s brother most of the winter.
There is an old Irish proverb that says, “Always carry two handkerchiefs, one to show and one to blow.” I agree that it shows sense to have two, but I am not in the suit-wearing, folded hankie in the breast pocket crowd, so min would both be to blow.
Many reports say that people should blow delicately from one nostril at a time, because a nose blwoing can create ten times the pressure created by a cough or a sneeze. I hope I haven’t expelled any brain cells, but it would explain a few things if I had. I forget what though
A powerful nose blower should always show great restrain when visiting a zoo or a circus. I for one try not to blow at all on the rare occasions when I make an appearance in such a facility.
It would not do to let out some great big HONK when a bull elephant was near.
The sound might resemble a pachyderm mating call and that is not the kind of hanky panky you want to be part of.
Thank you, Ken for this article. My father Don Plumlee always carried a handkerchief his entire life. He passed at age 88 and I was able to keep a couple of his hankies just for the memories and for the love. It was his normal routine, to use a hanky. Never did give it a second thought. Now I do.