the hobo hankie

When I hit 'publish' at the end of this post I will be dis-inherited.

My mom will call her lawyer (my dad) and write me out of that will.

Bummer.

So here goes nothin'.

You know that I am from the South. Let's take that a step further, and say that I am from the DEEP south. We pride ourselves on words like genteel, and social graces, and appropriate. We are debutantes and sorority girls. I was a Chi Omega, for Christ's sake.

If you are from the south then you have absolutely NO IDEA what a hobo hankie is. Am I right? Yes, I am. Girlfriends, you are about to have a lightbulb moment. Take a seat.

About twenty years ago, I was hiking with my friend Beth. We were hiking up the back side of Mt. Owen, next to the Grand Teton. Of course, it was beautiful. We were hiking along when Beth leaned forward a bit, closed a nostril with her finger and shot a stream of snot out of the opposing nostril, into the tundra. I fainted.

What. Was. That?

That, girls, was a hobo hankie.

What is the application for this, you ask?

Let me tell you.

The hobo hankie is for when you are outside. Duh. When you are running or hiking or cycling or skiing and your nose starts to run due to physical exertion you don't have to stop and grab a tissue. You simply....blow. In the west, it's a common practice. We all do it. In the south, you would be SHUNNED FOREVER. Black listed. Ex-communicated. You would lose your standing in the community, as would your family, FOR MANY GENERATIONS. It's why we moved. I couldn't risk my entire clans' reputation. They're good people.

I am so not kidding.

What are some other things that we do out west that would make you a social pariah in the south?

1.   Pee in the yard...more often than inside...girls, too.
2.   Strip naked in front of large groups of people (i.e. in the grocery store parking lot) to put on your      bathing suit or your bike shorts or your wet suit.
3.  Us girls don't shave sometimes. For years at a time.

One time I was back home visiting and I was taking the kids to the country club to swim. It had been a while since I'd shaved. We were getting ready to leave and my mother stepped in front of me as I came down the hall.

"You will shave for your father." she said. It wasn't a question; she gives directives.

'But he's not even going,' I wanted to protest, but I knew that the stakes were higher than that. I would fall head long into black sheep status. I would be 'certifiably' different or just plain out weird to those less tactful. Believe you me, that's a load I can carry, but the country club was not the ditch I was going to die in. {As an aside, hairy armpits aren't NEARLY as obnoxious as certain un-named pool goers after their 4th gin and tonic!}

It wasn't an argument that I was interested in having, and truth be told, I'll take all the help I can get in the bikini wearing business. I shaved. And have continued to, except for some of those long winter months when 'going native' is swathed in several layers of capilene or wool. It comes down to pure laziness, yes it does.

What does this have to do with anything? Nothing. I was running the other day and my nose started running and the hobo hankie was employed and I got tickled with myself for no good reason.

And now I'm sharing.

The much loved black sheep....signing off!