If I Were Mr. Potato Head

... my nose would be removed from my face by now.

I think I caught something during this most recent cold snap (or maybe it was during the warm snap) that has rendered my nose useless for its intended purposes. Instead, it now serves as a bottomless repository of airway-clogging goop. I'm temporarily changing my name to Rudolph because my nose is so ridiculously crimson at the moment.



My dad used to get irritated at me when my nose would run like this. I'd sit there doing my thing, then get up to blow my nose... then I'd go back to what I was doing, then a few minutes later get up again to blow my nose... then repeat the cycle. My dad eventually would get annoyed at this cycle, apparently completely failing to understand why I couldn't just, once and for all, get up, blow everything out of my nose, and have it all done once and for all. I don't think he understood the concept that my body actually replaced all the mucous I had just cleared out, and that I actually had to do a new blow job (tee hee hee!) to get rid of this new batch. Nor do I think he actually appreciated the fact that it bugged me as much, if not more, than it did him that I had to do that.

In any event, it's kinda funny to think back to my dad when I'm sick for such a stupid proposition. It's like bailing out a leaky boat, dad. "Just clean it out already!" Sounds more like douching before sex, personally. (Or taking an enema, I guess. I wouldn't know.)

But Dad, if I could, I would shove a vacuum tube up my nostrils right now, suck it all up, and leave it there until it was all cleared up. Because frankly, I'm pretty miserable right around now.