Scrabbling for tissues in the bottom of my bag is a common challenge. My bag is a bit like Doctor Who’s Tardis. Not that it travels in time and space – well, I guess it does a bit of travelling in space, sitting in the car or comfortably swinging from my shoulder. But it doesn’t travel in time, although how would I know? Perhaps it has visited the ancient Egyptians and sped forward to the end of time, all in a blink of an eye. But no, even then, that is not the similarity between my bag and the Tardis. I actually mean in the way it seems larger on the inside than the outside. But I guess you already knew that.

My bag carries a motley collection of items - all vitally important so that I cannot imagine leaving home without them - all crammed into the space most people would use for perhaps a box of tissues. Ironic, because I started talking about tissues. So there I was, out and about recently, trying to find a tissue to wipe up an overflowing of milk from Bubby’s mouth. I normally have a few tissues floating around in there somewhere, but this time I couldn’t find even the usual ‘probably clean’ crumpled tissue. This time, all I found was a strip of tissue, torn from the bottom like a numbered receipt from the fish and chip order.

Without tipping all the contents of my bag out on the floor I was compelled to use that tiny scrap, and make the most of what I had. It occurred to me that life’s a bit like that sometimes – we have to make the most of what we have. We might be looking for a nicely ironed floral hankie, or a freshly folded aloe-vera impregnated 3-ply tissue. As we adjust our expectations, we would be happy with a Home-brand tissue, as long as it does the job.

I never used to buy tissues, preferring just to use a few squares of toilet paper; after all, why double up on resources? But once I entered the workforce again and had to bring long rectangles of paper to blow my nose on, I wondered what others would think. I guess the peer pressure got to me, and I conceded to having a box of tissues on the kitchen bench like the majority of people (so I assume, although I haven’t entered in many people’s homes to get a full assessment of what the population does). My hubby would suggest I could save a lot of money by not buying tissues at all, nor using toilet paper for my nasal secretions. He is a supporter of the hankie habit, but if anyone has ever had sinus congestion, you’d know that once the evil goo leaves your head, you want it as far away as possible. I harbour no sentimental attachment that some people have that inspires them to carry their mucus around in their pocket.

Anyway. Back to the story.

Our tissues (or hankies) in life might be the tastefully decorated house to live in, the job we aspire to, and even the sort of wonderfully witty and empowering friends we’d love to congregate amongst. We think the more expensive or beautifully presented these lifestyle accessories are, the happier we’ll be. But sooner or later, reality kicks in and we find ourselves in a presentable home with second-hand furniture and friends who not only don’t kiss the ground we walk on, but actually dare to challenge our ideas and actions. These end up being far better for our sense of fulfilment and our character development than any life from the pages of a glossy magazine. Who would have thunk it?

So the Home-brand tissue or even the crumpled tissue from the bottom of the bag turns out to be not such a problem as we thought. And as for the tiny strip of tissue I’d found for wiping the baby’s mouth? It did the job perfectly. 

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