|I was on my way to the store yesterday and pulled into the parking spot near the cart return like I always do. I decided to check my appearance in the fold down mirror that most cars have nowadays and was startled to see something looking back at me.
Something had made me pull into that particular spot where the sun shining in the car was just right. It was shimmering at me. It was just the perfect length to make me go WTH. What was it?
Nose hair—that’s right, nose hair.
In my left nostril was a bunch of nose hairs that had gotten out of hand—make that, out of my nose. Well, they had to go, and fast.
Of course, I didn’t have my little manicure scissors with me, so, I would have to make do with what I had. After checking the surrounding vehicles to make sure no one was watching, I stuck my finger up my nose, tried to grab a hair and gave it a yank. The first thing I did was check my hand to see if I had gotten any of the hairs. I had but when I checked the mirror again there were still more gray hairs smiling back at me.
Probe, grasp and pull.
Dig, grab and tug.
Insert finger one last time and go for the gold. Ouch, out it came, the lone survivor, the last silvery-coated nose hair that was causing me to perform minor surgery in the hot confines of my little red sports car.
I checked the pull down mirror one last time to make sure that there wasn’t any little hairs hiding somewhere and happened to glance in the rearview mirror were I caught the glance of a little boy being pulled by the hand towards his car.
“Mommy, Mommy”, he cried. “That lady is picking her nose. You told me that grownups didn’t pick their nose.”
This isn’t one of those stories that people would normally tell; however, after three days, my left nostril is still sore to the touch. Not that I am touching it or anything.