There comes a time in every girl's life: you're maturing, and you need to turn to your mother for answers to awkward questions.
Like where on earth does one go to buy handkerchiefs?
All I've got at the moment is about ten fraying mens hankies, which I think are the same ones my mum bought for me when I was a teenager.
Mum laughed and explained that everybody uses tissues these days, which is why hankies are so hard to find.
It's not that I'm a tissue sceptic. I'm quite persuaded that tissues are superior from a public health perspective, provided you bin them immediately after use, and don't just shove them back in your pocket/handbag/whatever. It's just that I find tissues will more effectively remove makeup, whether you want them to or not. The daintiest dab with a tissue risks exposing the full horror of my big red Karl Malden boozer's nose, which I'd rather avoid.
Mum's very particular about hankies as well, for what I presume are different reasons (as she is nothing if not temperate in her habits).
When I was visiting last January, and Mum was upstairs, my nephew announced he just had to check something in the linen cupboard in the hall. He crept out, and rushed back in a state of some excitement.
"Oh, my god! She does, too!"
"Oh yeah," confirmed my sister casually.
I wasn't sure I wanted to know. "Does what?"
"Irons her hankies."
"Oh, that. Yeah." Doesn't everybody's mum do that?
Last night my mother phoned. She'd been to Miranda Fair the day before, and found a box of really nice hankies that she'd post down to me. She said that she'd have bought a box for herself, as they were so nice, but she already had a cupboard full.
Immaculately pressed.
My name is Katy. I'm fifty-four years old. And my mother still buys my hankies.