Hanky Panky

It Seems to Me . . . was the byline of Heywood Broun’s
column in The World

I enjoy checking out antique and thrift shops, and some time ago I purchased a box of handkerchiefs for a dollar.   There were a variety of lovely Madeira linens in the box, a real collection from days gone by, some with hand crochet edging, embroidered embellishments and bright colorful prints.  It brought to mind the exquisite silk one I carried decades ago on my wedding day: an elaborately embroidered white crane in flight against an ecru field.  I found that lovely piece of art in a thrift shop, too, and carried it on my son’s wedding day to catch my tears.  After all, tissues just don’t cut it alongside formalwear.

Back in the 1920s, Dorothy Parker, too, carried handkerchiefs, and if she didn’t have one conveniently tucked in her sleeve, Mr. Benchley would have provided one of his own, thank goodness, because although she was a very funny person who made people laugh, she was a real crier.  Such is the case with humorist types.  Laughing through her tears.   Men weren’t dressed without one handy in their trouser pocket.  One rarely sees them anymore, except the decorative triangle peeking out of a gentleman’s suit jacket, or hidden in the depths of a nonagenarian’s handbag.

I remember those little packets of tissues when they came out.  The kind wrapped in cellophane which was slit along the top.  We still have them, but they always seem to get linty and nasty down there in my purse after getting shifted around for  a couple of years, and not conducive for use anywhere near the face.  And God forbid you forget there’s one lurking in a cardigan pocket  thrown in the wash.  Quell mess!  Of course, tissues are necessary, especially when you have a head cold.  I can’t deal with wet, mucus laden fabric hardening to the consistency of bark in my laundry hamper.  But, on an ordinary day, handkerchiefs are quite nice just to have along during my day.  Gives you a sense of security.  And let’s face it, ladies, if you want to draw the attention of that attractive man you are passing by in the street, I doubt he’d bother to pick up the crumpled tissue you drop on the sidewalk in order to affect an introduction in the same way he’d be encouraged to retrieve a lovely silk handkerchief.  Handkerchiefs were rarely used for nose-blowing, but mostly for wiping away tears, whereas tissues, well, who knows where they’ve been?

Until next time,

Agata