Well Fuck My Nostrils
There are few things in life that everyone shamefully admits to doing on a daily basis. Through careful observation and dedication, I’ve found that one of those is picking boogers. I pick my nose. Get over it. Everyone does it, but very few have to deal with what I go through. You see I have an acute facial anomaly—I was born with a big nose but ultra narrow nostrils. The word “streamlined” comes to mind, however seeing as my fingers are quite pudgy, this is cause for serious concern. I would even go so far as to say I’m a rhinotillexomaniac.
Before we begin, I’d like to state that in the bold pursuit of the truth, I’ve completely ignored any scientific evidence while assuming the average person (yes, that includes all you females out there) picks away at least twice per day. Think about it, I believe it sounds reasonable. Whether the cause is irritation, sickness, appearance, or entertainment, it’s no wonder we humans enjoy this simple pleasure. Don’t believe me? Ok, ok well how about just one piece of scientific evidence? According to The Useless Information Website, a 1995 survey conducted for the Journal of Psychiatry showed that:
"82.8% [of respondents] picked their noses to "unclog the nasal passages", 66.4% had done it to relieve discomfort or itchiness, 35.7% to avoid the unsightly appearance of a booger hanging from their nose, 34.0% for personal hygiene, and 17.2% picked out of habit. 2.1% claimed to pick solely for enjoyment. [One person stated he/she] picked their nose for "sexual stimulation."
See? Told you we have a bevy of reasons to go nose mining. Anyways, back to me and my problem. As I was saying, I tend to pick my nose a lot, like right now for example. However, this infuriating conundrum has led to several immature/politically incorrect/disgusting habits. The first one is that I wrinkle my nose up. I can’t think of a better explanation than that, but basically it looks like I’ve just smelled someone that shit his or her pants. While it may seem like high comedy, it’s annoying as hell because I’m just trying to breathe. It’s only a temporary relief though and usually leads to the second stage of the process—the nostril push. This consists of using the back of my left forefinger to push one nostril shut and then the other (similar to this). Depending on the severity of the situation, this may or may not be followed by the double nostril squeeze; which is accomplished by grasping the nose between the thumb and the side of the forefinger. Now I know there are products on the market that try and cure this situation, like Breathe Right Nasal Strips. Trust me I’ve tried them and they don’t work for two reasons: 1.) I’m not in the NFL. I’ve come to realize unless you’re a jacked guy wearing a football helmet, these things make you look like a tard. 2.) The extreme slope of the sides of my nose (due to my lack of nostrils) makes it impossible for the strips to stay on. Even if I super glued them to my face I’m pretty sure they would fall off. Ok I’m getting off on a tangent, let’s get back to the subject.
Now we’ve reached the point of no return. I’ve made it painfully obvious that I’m about to pick my nose but considering I’ve had this dilemma for years, I’ve stopped caring. What makes the situation even more pathetic/hilarious is that all of my fingers are pretty much useless for the job, save for my pinky. That’s right I said it, not only do I pick my nose but I have to use my pinky finger since my nostrils are so damn thin. At this point the people around me have come to the conclusion that I must do more coke than Charlie Sheen watching Bring It On (and while this is completely false, I can easily see why someone would jump to that conclusion).
But before I cross the line from "No, my nose itched!" to "Yea I’m picking my nose, WHAT!?," I steal a glance at my pinky finger. This is crucial because it gives me one last moment to determine if the situation warrants a full on digger or not. It also lets me gauge the nail length in order to approximate how far to insert the finger. Similar to a NASA shuttle launch, it’s this last second chain of events that can determine the fate for everything that follows. On a related note, why is it after every time I cut my fingernails I immediately have to pick my nose? Is that some sort of sick joke? That’s like having your hands amputated and then being told to drive home.
Either way, the time has finally come. I’ve rubbed, pushed, poked, and prodded my nose to the point it wants to call the rape hotline. I can’t take it anymore and decide to actually pick my nose. In my younger, more bashful days I would’ve tried to conceal such an event with a quick head turn or by pretending to bend over to tie my shoe—but not now, not after all these years of nostril nonsense. I dig in like Kevin Federline in Britney’s bank account, but much to my astonishment, no one is looking. Then I realize I’m around my friends and they’ve seen this behavior for the better part of a decade. I bet I could shove my finger up my nose to the point my eyes water and blood comes out and they wouldn’t notice. Ahhh, that’s what true friends are for. Then again, if any of them decide to act up they’ll have a flick full of “boogasnots” to deal with. Oh well, I guess sometimes it’s just better to be oblivious to your surroundings. On that note I bid you adieu, my fingers are through typing and would rather be back home...in my nose.
