According to Sam and Jim Commenting on things that irk us off, make us laugh out loud or just seem too weird too believe According to Sam and Jim: My Nose Flows, I Blows

Friday, April 20, 2012

My Nose Flows, I Blows

Rodney Dangerfield once said during a monologue, “Take my wife - please.”

I just want somebody to take my nose.

Yeah, I’m talking about my snozzola, my Jimmy Durante dripolator, my prominent protruding probiscus, my Roman gondola banana, my sneezing, wheezing, sniffling, snot-dripping eye-glass holder. Every morning before I fully wake up, my nose runs more miles than a Boston marathoner, and I go through a ton of tissue. And I’m not talking about those dainty perfumed sniffs with aloe or some other medication to prevent nostril chapping or nose rot. No, I’m talking about blowing out a whole pile of 250-count table napkins, big strong and able to last more than one honk. I earn a lot of cash rewards at the grocery store because of all the napkins I buy.

My nose drives me insane most of the time, but especially in the morning when it’s waking up. I hate having to halt in the middle of making coffee to honk. I am humiliated by piddulus interruptus because my hands can only service one appendage at a time. I have napkins stashed in both pockets of my robe, in both pockets of my pajama bottoms, on the side table by the couch and on the kitchen counter top. I barely manage to finish two cups of my morning brew before using up most of the stashed serviettes (that’s Canadian - look it up). When I take Sam outside to do his morning duty, I make sure I’ve got plenty of nose wipers in my jacket pockets. For some strange reason, known only to him, Sam likes to eat my rags de snot too.

I often am tempted to cut my nose off, not to spite my face, but to save it from its misery. Sometimes my nose itches so much I feel like rubbing it off against the hard bark of an evergreen tree, like the deer rub velvet off their horns. People have suggested I have allergies and that I should take medication. But I’ve never admitted I have allergies and I’m not going to fill my refrigerator and medicine cabinets with drugs that the television ads promise will work and don’t. On the few occasions that I’ve taken drugs, my brain starts acting like it’s had a couple of chocolate pudding margaritas and I turn groggy and grumpy (and I’m hardly ever grumpy - really).

I had a sinus treatment once when I was a kid, when I spent a few months in the hospital with rheumatic fever. The treatment consisted of strapping me down in bed, running a tube up my nostril into my cavernous cranial regions which purportedly were filled with icky phlegm, and washing me out with warm water. If you ever want to know what water boarding torture is like I’m pretty sure that’s what was done to me. If I could have broken the bonds that held me I probably would have become a nine-year old terrorist on the spot. As it was, all I could do was scream and try not to drown.

I scream and yell at my nose every morning, cuss it roundly and blow like Joshua fighting the battle of Jericho.  When I have a sneezing fit, which can last a good two dozen achoos before it’s over, Sam looks at me quizzically and barks for me to stop. Sorry Sam. Kathleen just leaves for work. Sometimes when I’m working at my computer in the morning I have so many snotty napkins laying on my desk I need a GPS device to find my keyboard.

Three bags of poop on my nose, except I’m probably allergic to the smell.

No comments:

Post a Comment