You know, sometimes I do things that I really shouldn’t, or have things happen to me that are out of the ordinary. Not that they’re illegal, immoral, or in any way bad….they’re just usually dumb. I have over the past four years told you stories about myself that perhaps should have stayed hidden, buried amongst the morass of memories that are private, yet now have become public. Mostly I share these with you because I like a good laugh as much as the next guy, and although you may not all be laughing at me or with me, I know I am so no harm done.
I wrote last year about an abhorrent nose hair I named Ted. This hair had grown so long that it passed my moustache, and stood out so much I was transfixed in the mirror for over thirty minutes while I tried to figure out how I had let this happen. I mean, I try to keep a good hygiene regimen. And yet, Ted came to be.
Well. As it appears that I am prone to such events, the latest event shouldn’t come as a surprise…and yet, it did. I had to emcee a wedding last Saturday (it was a lovely evening). As I was doing my thing, my nose was becoming more and more itchy. It felt like I had a hair in there. Not fair, this hair, hiding in its lair. And so, I checked in the mirror. No hair in there. Au contraire. It was, in fact, bare. So there. I finished the evening, still itchy, still not knowing what it was.
Sunday morning, I felt that the itch was subsiding. So, I let it go. Football was on, and before I knew it, it was time to wash up and go to bed. In the mirror, I noticed a slight blemish on the front-left area of my nose. But, since it was no longer itchy, I thought it would be just fine. I slept very well that night, no longer itchy, assured that there wasn’t another Ted in my head. All was good.
Monday morning, getting ready for work, my nose was a little sensitive. Looking at myself in the mirror, I realized what all this itch ad sensitivity was about. Bill had a zit. 49 years old, puberty a mere memory to chat about over beers at a fire, and I had a pimple on my nose. Not too big, but still….a pimple. I didn’t even know what to do. ‘Should I get a shot of estrogen?’ I asked Anne, who threw a curling iron at me. I guess estrogen was out.
And thus began a day where a pimple took on a life of its own. As the day progressed, my pimple grew in leaps and bounds. By 10 am, I could see it if I closed my right eye and looked at my nose. People began to avoid looking me in the eye, and instead started looking me in the nose. I began to talk to others by strategically placing items to hide my pimple. One customer thought it was odd that I spoke to her while holding a bag of beef jerky up high enough to conceal my nose.
By noon, it was evident that this sucker would need a name. After racking my brain for about 10 seconds or so, the perfect name came to me: Reginald. I would call it Reginald. Old Reg started really hurting at about 1 pm, and had a pulse of its own. I could count my heart beats. Also, it was emitting a heat that was eye watering. When I walked into my office, the air conditioning kicked on. It was actually starting to cast a shadow when I walked.
I managed to escape the day without poking anyone’s eye out. When Anne got home, she refused to remove her sunglasses, and the dogs were hiding under the bed. Something had to be done. We would have to pop Reginald, Anne told me.
You have to understand that it has literally been years since I had to pop a zit. That said, I had no idea how much pain this would cause. She prepared the area, laying out plastic tarps like it was a crime scene on C.S.I.
That’s when I ran away.
So if you see me walking about town carrying a bucket in front of my face, or driving around with a scarf over the bottom of my face, it’s not because I’m about to rob a bank. It’s because Reggie and I are avoiding a trigger-happy red head who would be more than happy to put Reginald down. And please, no pictures.
Bill's Musings 