Be My Guest

I've heard of people nosing into other people's businesses, but I've never heard of anyone poking their business up other people's noses.

That's just what my intra-nasal guest, Spatter the pimple, has been doing. He took up residence in my right nostril three days ago and has been keeping me up at night ever since. (Yes, he. Women generally aren't this awful to me.) Imagine getting a spider bite. Now imagine pinching the bite until it swells up. Finally, imagine a heavy dog sitting on that bite and drooling all over it. That's what this feels like, inside my nose.
Spatter was also nice enough to visit me on the same day ol' Cold did. (She's like an annoying childhood friend who stays for a few days every now and again because cutting her out of your life isn't as easy as you thought it would be.) I now can't blow my nose without yelling Bloody Mary and he's taken up so much room in there, I can't even get my not-so-stubby fingers in. After many a tissue experiment, I've resigned to letting my right nose clog up and drag my head down with the weight it's carrying.


If you see a faint glimmer of red from a bulbous object when you look out the window, it's me.