|Sign seen in Pharmacy, Gort, County Galway, Ireland|
My father was one of the original handkerchief men. Never without one, he perfected its multiple uses. Runny nose? He'd attack it with his hanky in his suit coat pocket, swiping snot from your nose to your chin. Dirty face? He'd correct the problem with the other side of the same cloth (if you were lucky) well moistened with a healthy amount of daddy spit.
Skinned knee? He'd wrap his now slightly gunky rag around the knee tying it TIGHT to prevent any possible hemorrhage. Impromptu "Pin the Tail on The Donkey " game ? He was at the ready wrapping his bandanna around your eyes...our EYES for crying out loud. No wonder 5 of out 6 of us ended up wearing glasses.
Cold? The handkerchief became a scarf or worse yet, a babushka. Grocery shopping? The hanky became an instant fruit basket, perfect for grapes both green and purple. Or maybe they were purple going in the cloth square and became green after residence in the bacteria ridden hostel.
Yup, my dad was the king of handkerchief etiquette. He never left home without it.