If you took a peek inside my bra when I’m out power-walking, you’d find three things.
My left boob.
My right boob.
And a tissue.
Now, the tissue isn’t there to compensate for a lack of boobage. (My cups runneth over. A little too much, actually.)
It’s there because I’m a life-long sufferer of hay fever, rhinitis, overactive mucosal glands… whatever fancy name you want to give ‘general snottiness’, that’s me.
All the women in my family suffer from this affliction. (Lucky us.) So along with our childbearing hips and inexplicable Mediterranean colouring, we also all have a genetic predisposition to nose-trumpet our way through life with spontaneous snotty expulsions.
Because we are also genetically predisposed to ‘be prepared’, you’ll never find a Larsen woman without a stash of tissues hidden somewhere on her person.
Usually they’ll be in her handbag or purse, but when such accessories are not practical (like when you’re out on an afternoon power-walk), none of us are above tucking a few spare snot-rags in our bras.
So yesterday afternoon when I was out walking and my nose started doing its usual leak-a-roonie, I confidently reached into my bra, dug around Ol’ Lefty, felt up Ms Righty, and was gobsmacked to find… nothing.
Except boobs. Which – let’s face it – are entirely unsuitable to wipe one’s nose on.
I couldn’t work out how I didn’t have a dang tissue with me – I always-always-always smoosh one into my Sports bra as I dash out the door. It’s part of my pre-workout routine (which also includes: peeing, smearing on some lip balm, grabbing my iPod, popping a piece of gum in my mouth, and peeing again just in case.)
So where the hell was it? Had it fallen out? Unlikely. (As I said, my ‘ladies’ ensure there’s very little free space in my bra. Once something is rammed in there – keys, tissues, lip balm, whatever – there’s less than zero chance of it working its way free without me deliberately groping myself to extract it.)
Which meant I must have done the unthinkable and forgotten to grab one on my way out.
I know what you’re thinking: Why, for the love of Lucifer’s left ear lobe, was this such a big deal?
Well, firstly, because I hate the feeling of an unwiped runny nose. In my books, it’s as irritating and uncomfortable as having a peppercorn stuck in your teeth or a giant wedgie.
And secondly, because about one second before my nose started running, I’d looked around at the utter gorgeousness of the beach where I was walking and thought to myself, This is sooo nice, and it feels sooo good to be outside, maybe I’ll just turn around and do a whole ‘nother lap of the beach before I head home.’
It was then that my nasal faucet started leaking, I discovered I had no tissue, and I grumpily realised that a second lap would NOT be possible because I had snot streaming down my face. (I’m a princess like that.)
I couldn’t even resort to using my sleeve, because I was wearing a singlet. (Totally gross, but we all do it, right? RIGHT?!)
In another moment of princessyness, a stupidly self-indulgent thought entered my mind. ‘This sucks. All I want to do is walk. What I wouldn’t give right now for a freaking tissue!’
I know. Ridiculous. The dictionary definition of a first world problem.
And that’s when I saw it.
Three metres ahead of me, resting on the footpath, was a neatly folded-up tissue.
It was so perfectly folded and pristine that I couldn’t quite work out how it got there. Surely if it had fallen out of someone’s pocket or handbag (or bra) it would be crumpled, right? Or at least look like it had floated haphazardly to the ground?
Instead, it looked like it had been folded with the delicate precision of a swan-napkin at a wedding. Like it had been left there just for me, by some divine being who could predict the inner workings of my nasal passage.
As well as its neatness and convenience, then there was the mystery of its location – how on earth had it not been blown away by the ocean breeze that was gently blowing all around me?
There was only one possible conclusion to draw…
You guys, it was a Miracle Tissue.
You better believe that I rushed towards it, scooped it up, and – with gratitude ballooning my heart – blew my nose in the most satisfying, loud, harrumphing way possible.
It was the best nose-blow of my life.
I proceeded to thank God/The Universe/Elvis/Zeus for my insane good fortune, as I happily did a 180-degree turn and set out to do another lap of the glorious, sun-soaked beach.
And as I walked along the sand (breathing deeply through my delightfully clear nose) you better believe I tucked that now-loaded tissue into my bra with all the tenderness of a child tucking their favourite doll into bed.
So why am I telling you all this? Two reasons:
Firstly because the story of The Miracle Tissue deserved to be told. (This is truly one for the ages, y’all.)
But secondly – and more importantly – because The Universe has our back far more often than we think. It’s rooting for us to feel good, to figure things out, to find our way… and to have the fricking best nose-blow of our lives.
The moral of the story is that the Universe wants to show you the way.
Sometimes it might shove a miracle right under your goddamn nose (see what I did there?!) and sometimes you might have to search a little harder…
… But there are miracles all around, if only you’re willing to look for them.
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P.S. Live workshop at the Sunshine Coast!
Want to spend a whole day learning how to turn your website-words into weapons of mass seduction?
Celeste Mitchell (of The Devil Wears Flip-Flops) and I are hosting an in-person copywriting workshop on September 3rd that will show you exactly how to Write Like a MOFO!
This full-day event is an intimate workshop, meaning tickets are
strictly delightfully limited. To get first dibs on scoring yourself a seat, make sure to sign up to the VIP mailing list over here. (A special email to our VIP MOFOs is going out tomorrow, so make sure you scoot on over ASAP!)