Kleenex

ANNABEL: What is that?

KATHLEEN: A handkerchief. Oh my, do children not even know what handkerchiefs are? A handkerchief is a Kleenex you don't throw away.

-- You've Got Mail, 1998

I have this little ritual I go through whenever I leave home. I feel myself up in the following order: right back pocket: wallet - check; left front pocket: mobile phone - check; right front pocket: handkerchief - check. The last part of the ritual's been the same for the last 12-13 years, ever since I started wearing "full pants", before I started carrying a wallet and before a mobile phone became a "necessity". And prior to "full pants" I didn't bother about sweat or snoot. A sleeve was always handy.

Now imagine me walking around with a box of Kleenex in my pocket. I might as well carry a wad of toilet paper around too. Just in case.

I don't understand this Kleenex fascination at various levels.

It's not economically viable. A kerchief is a one-time investment. Kleenex is just recurring cost.

The logistics are horrible. You can flirt with Kleenex but you can never bring it home. But a handkerchief's like that boyfriend who's always around. And when you want to dump the Kleenex, you need to find a dust-bin because oh-the-horror of being seen with a used Kleenex! A self-effacing handkerchief, on the other hand, can be neatly folded and tucked back into your pocket or a hand-bag, as the case may be.

I used to think it had something to do with sophistication but what could be more sophisticated than the elegant tip of a double-folded silk handkerchief sticking out of the top of a breast pocket?

Besides, I haven't heard of people gifting Kleenex at weddings.

Point is: One handkerchief is worth a thousand kleenex.

Period.