I Don’t Want Life Advice from Tissues

Louise Foerster
Sep 9, 2018 · 3 min read
Photo by Senjuti Kundu on Unsplash

Looking for more peace in your day?

Want to turn down the volume of noise, halt the tyranny of trite?

Look around you. Audit the objects around you, the common everyday goods that you use without thinking.

If your home and office are anything like mine, you are surrounded by products that instruct, encourage, goad, and entertain. Collectively, they compete for precious time and attention under the guise of helping us live better lives.


It started when I sneezed.

I pulled a tissue out of its package. The package looked different than usual, so I examined it. I was instructed to “Seize the Moment.”

I blew my nose and pondered. Does blowing your nose count as moment seizing? I felt better, so maybe it does.

What else did I need to know? I ran upstairs and read the other packs of tissues. Who knew there was such wisdom to be found in my linen closet? Nifty fonts commanded: “Find Your Fearless,” “Believe in Yourself,” and the baffling “Summon Your Strength.”

Summon your strength? To blow your nose?

I must have been doing things all wrong. Good thing my tissues helped me out.

Wait a minute. Do the tissues know something they’re not telling me? Are they bolstering my fragile persona so that I can breathe easily — or is it something more dire that they’re trying to address? What do they know about the dramatic reveal for the novel I’m writing?

Tissues are more complex and helpful than I ever imagined. It’s a good thing I had them to help me out.


There was more wisdom to be found in the linen closet.

The box of paper cups commands: Download, scan, and brush. Then a super-fun, amazing interactive game will make little kids brush their teeth the right way. Who could resist brushing long and hard to get rid of the terrible monsters swarming all over their teeth?

I can.

I was a kid who would have freaked out thinking about monsters in her mouth.

I also would have been a complete goner for this game. Take a device into the bathroom and get to dive into a game where I get to kill monsters? I’d be brushing my teeth all day, every day, because you can never be too sure about monsters. What if I missed a spot?

There were four of us under the age of five in my family. Picture happy chaos. Now picture it in a tiny bathroom filled with devices, monsters, and earnest kids competing to kill their monsters deadest.

Yeah, I don’t want to be anywhere near there either.


I glance at the laundry basket, spotting a favorite pair of jeans.

The pocket linings advise: You are sexy; You are gorgeous; You are stunning. If I ever have a doubt, my pants will help me out. (Maybe that should be another jeans truism.)

When I bought the jeans, I didn’t pay attention to the bright chatter fated to motivate my hips. They fit well. They were well-constructed and a great value. They were also the dark rinse I wanted. I didn’t hold the blithe slogans against them since everything else was perfect.

However, I cringe to think of anyone seeing the pockets and thinking I rely on these pants for courage.

Because I don’t.

I rely on them for gratitude. I pray I never have to take solace from my pants.

I also count on them to make me laugh. Their well-meaning designers can rest assured that they have created a world made happier and more confident in attractive jeans.


Tissues encourage. Paper cups teach. Jeans motivate and inspire.

While they blather at one another in the linen closet, I take small steps toward quiet. I find handkerchiefs for my running nose and place plain drinking glasses in the bathrooms. Options to manage the noisy pants are under consideration.

Louise Foerster

Written by

Writes "A snapshot in time we can all relate to - with a twist." Novelist, marketer, business story teller, new product imaginer…

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