My nose is driving me crazy. It’s so damned itchy.
(I’ve mentioned my little nasal issue before.)
For some reason, it’s always worse after I exert myself. Like tonight, when I played volleyball. Now, I don’t know why it happens this way. Maybe snorting in other people’s funky BO for three hours has something to do with it. Or maybe sweat works its way in there somehow and gets all tickly. More likely, I imagine all the huffing and puffing wiggles the hairs in there around, scraping them against the sides like a bunch of nasty little feathers.
(Come to think of it, that might not be it, either. If it’s heavy breathing that sets me off, shouldn’t the same thing happen during sex, too? And how inconvenient would that be?
‘Oh yeah, baby… *snnnorrrt* That’s the way I *ggggrrrrkkkk* like it. Oh, yeah, who’s your daddy? Who’s your *ssshhhnnnuuurrfff* daddy?’
Yeah, and that’s not happening, let me assure you. Let me tell you, people — I will put up with a lot of strange noises during the old ugly-bumping. Some nights, the stranger, the better. But no one — and I mean no one — in the bed is going to be making piggy noises. Or anything that could be construed as piggy noises. I’ve seen Deliverance. I ain’t goin’ out like that.)
Anyway, back to my nostrils.
(Sounds tasty, doesn’t it? You want some fries with those noseholes? No? Okay.)
So, I’m pretty sure it’s the hair up in there causing the problem. But there’s damned little that I can do about it during the sport, now, is there? I’m not going to get caught returning serve with a finger jammed up there, trying to comb that shit down. If that ball hit me in the arm, I might poke myself in the brain. And that hurts, people. Take it from me — that frigging hurts.
(You know, it’s times like these when I start to think that solipsism looks pretty fucking good as a personal philosophy. If I can just convince myself that all you people are simply figments of my fractured imagination, then I won’t have to be embarrassed by this crap any more. I think I’ll work on this. No offense, by the way. You’re nice figments, really. I couldn’t have come up with better figments myself.
At least I guess I couldn’t. I mean, I didn’t, now, did I? So clearly there’s some limitation on my powers. Damn!)
But I can’t be certain that the hair’s to blame, because I can’t see it itching me. See, if it is the hair, then I usually feel it before I can see it. When I finally reach the privacy of my own home, I can get in there and clean house. I can tweeze, or clip, or do whatever it takes, and the problem is solved. Hair trimmed, itch gone. Which brings me to something truly amazing. Gross, certainly. Icky. Creepy. But amazing, nonetheless. Stick with me here.
I know this guy. I see him once a week or so; we’ve known each other for a couple of months. And this guy — this astounding guy — has a whole friggin’ follicluar forest hanging out his nostrils. It’s mesmerizing. I can’t look at anything else. I couldn’t even tell you what the guy looks like. For all I know, he’s got three arms, or a fetus growing out of his ass, or he’s just a disembodied head floating around talking to people. I honestly don’t know. All I can see is the hair. Seriously, it’s like he’s got a whole Gene Shalit thing going on up in there, only it’s growing ‘up and in’ rather than ‘out and away’. I’m surprised that much hair would even fit in a nose, to tell the truth. It’s shocking. Really.
And if my little hairlets are giving me so much trouble, what the hell do you think this guy goes through? I don’t know how the guy makes it out of the house in the morning. And how does he scratch it, anyway? I’m not sure a naked human finger could get through all that underbrush. He probably has to go in there with a pencil eraser, or a butter knife, or maybe an electric toothbrush. Yeah, that can’t be comfortable.
But how does he stand it? That stuff’s got to give him frigging fits. Unless… maybe those hairs in there only itch when they’re growing in. Maybe once they’ve spread out and gotten comfortable, it’s all cool. Maybe the key is to cultivate those puppies, and let ’em get as long as they want. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen this guy scratch his nose with his finger, or wing, or flipper, or whatever the hell he has. And the tickle-inducing ends of his hairs are all flopping out the end of his nose, waving in the breeze. Maybe that’s the way to go.
I don’t think I could do it, though. For one, I’d never make it through the ‘growth phase’. Man, ten minutes of this itchy crap is too much; ten months of it? I’d be in there with a Weed Whacker in the first week. There’s no way. So I guess I’ll just deal with my current problem, and go find a way to make this damned itching stop. I think I know what I have to do. I’ve got an electric toothbrush upstairs, and it’s got my nose’s name all over it. I’ll be back in a few minutes; wish me luck.Permalink | 1 Comment