The Hankerchief

The unthinkable, unbearable, and almost unmentionable has occurred.

For those of you that missed our wedding rehearsal dinner, let me catch you up. As a young, opinionated girl I told my family that would NEVER marry a man who blew his nose with a hankerchief. After years of watching my father use them, and then watching my mother bleach, wash, and sterilize them weekly, I was thoroughly disgusted. I learned how to iron using a hankerchief; I learned how to fold using a hankerchief, and I was sure, at the confident age of six, that I had done my share of hankerchiefing duties.

Well, low and behold on the night before my wedding my mother gives my husband-to-be-in-12-hours a box of cloth HANKERCHIEFS. I was frantically looking around for the nearest exit! I was sure my marriage was doomed, and it hadn't even started.

Fortunately for me I am a super sleuth at hiding unwanted articles. And, until this week, had been successfully winning the game of hide-and-seek. Well, a few days ago Danny got sick with some flu/sinus/fever mess. It put him in bed with a box of tissues, and after rubbing his nose almost raw, he decided that he had had enough. He busted out that box of hankerchiefs and used the SAME ONE for over a DAY! He then had the adacity to leave that dirty piece of snot covered cloth on my washer for me to WASH. It has been one of the greatest tests of our marriage and of my courage as a wife. And, up until this moment I am not very brave, because that darned hankerchief is still sitting there on that washer.