Having found the carpeted cat tower climbing thing I was looking for at a garage sale, I was beating up the seller with my savage negotiating skills.
"What do you want for it?"
"I don't know - how about ten bucks?"
"OK"
It’s a talent.
Anyway, the host and I were chatting amiably as his wife went off to fetch the tower thingy when suddenly I felt an outrageous tickle in my nose. It was enormously powerful, no doubt caused by some lurking hair that had finally built up enough spring energy to overcome the hold-back hairs that had restrained it thus far.
It sproinged across the inside of my nostril and started titillating the other side with some ferocity.
I uttered a loud “Aah!” gasp and began furiously rubbing my nose in an effort to quiet the horrendous irritation up there.
It didn't help.
I began twitching and rubbing it with some violence. The home owner was staring at me now with rapt fascination. One second I was commenting on his wares and wishing him well with his sale, the next I was contorting my entire face and rubbing my nose so violently it appeared I was perhaps trying to produce sparks with it to start a fire (and wouldn’t THAT be a talent).
The rubbing and twitching wasn’t working, so, humiliation aside, I violently inserted my index finger to the third knuckle to bring some relief. Up it went, twisting, twirling and hopefully slicing the hair off at its base.
No such luck.
By now I was really off my rocker. Picking, twitching, gasping, and rubbing - all in an effort to get rid of the horrible tickling menace that was my nose. I couldn't stand it.
The man asked "Are you all right?" He must have thought I was some sort of crack addict in desperate need of a score. I tried to lighten the atmosphere, which had quieted since a small crowd had gathered to watch me pitch some sort of fit. "I have a hair up my nose!" I announced. "It really tickles! Aarrrgh!" I don't think this explanation did much to assure them that I was normal.
Then I remembered that I carry a finger nail clipper on my key ring. Clutching it, I rushed over to a tacky dresser with a dreadful 1970's style decorative mirror attached, leaned up close to it, and inserted my clippers into the offending tubule. I began frantically snipping, the denuded hairs shooting forth like grass from a push lawn mower.
All the while I was gasping and moaning such was my distraction.
The clippers mainly nicked my delicate nasal tissues and pulled the stout, springy hairs out by the roots, bringing more gasps of pain, and also causing a small flood of tears to well up.
Intensely focused, I lost track of where I was and what was going on around me. Finally I must have snipped the blighter because the itch suddenly went away.
Tears streaming down my face, nicks inside my nose starting to bleed, small hairs sprayed over my cheeks, I turned away from the mirror, smiling and at peace. “Aaaaah!” I sighed.
I beheld a crowd of twenty or so stunned onlookers who began applauding.
Newly arriving patrons of this garage sale were no doubt curious to observe a disheveled, wild-looking gentleman with kleenex wadded up his nose and tear stains on his cheeks leaving the scene.
I didn't have time to explain to them it is not often you find exactly what you are hunting for at a garage sale. It pays to dig around in dark, cramped places to turn up the really satisfying stuff.
"What do you want for it?"
"I don't know - how about ten bucks?"
"OK"
It’s a talent.
Anyway, the host and I were chatting amiably as his wife went off to fetch the tower thingy when suddenly I felt an outrageous tickle in my nose. It was enormously powerful, no doubt caused by some lurking hair that had finally built up enough spring energy to overcome the hold-back hairs that had restrained it thus far.
It sproinged across the inside of my nostril and started titillating the other side with some ferocity.
I uttered a loud “Aah!” gasp and began furiously rubbing my nose in an effort to quiet the horrendous irritation up there.
It didn't help.
I began twitching and rubbing it with some violence. The home owner was staring at me now with rapt fascination. One second I was commenting on his wares and wishing him well with his sale, the next I was contorting my entire face and rubbing my nose so violently it appeared I was perhaps trying to produce sparks with it to start a fire (and wouldn’t THAT be a talent).
The rubbing and twitching wasn’t working, so, humiliation aside, I violently inserted my index finger to the third knuckle to bring some relief. Up it went, twisting, twirling and hopefully slicing the hair off at its base.
No such luck.
By now I was really off my rocker. Picking, twitching, gasping, and rubbing - all in an effort to get rid of the horrible tickling menace that was my nose. I couldn't stand it.
The man asked "Are you all right?" He must have thought I was some sort of crack addict in desperate need of a score. I tried to lighten the atmosphere, which had quieted since a small crowd had gathered to watch me pitch some sort of fit. "I have a hair up my nose!" I announced. "It really tickles! Aarrrgh!" I don't think this explanation did much to assure them that I was normal.
Then I remembered that I carry a finger nail clipper on my key ring. Clutching it, I rushed over to a tacky dresser with a dreadful 1970's style decorative mirror attached, leaned up close to it, and inserted my clippers into the offending tubule. I began frantically snipping, the denuded hairs shooting forth like grass from a push lawn mower.
All the while I was gasping and moaning such was my distraction.
The clippers mainly nicked my delicate nasal tissues and pulled the stout, springy hairs out by the roots, bringing more gasps of pain, and also causing a small flood of tears to well up.
Intensely focused, I lost track of where I was and what was going on around me. Finally I must have snipped the blighter because the itch suddenly went away.
Tears streaming down my face, nicks inside my nose starting to bleed, small hairs sprayed over my cheeks, I turned away from the mirror, smiling and at peace. “Aaaaah!” I sighed.
I beheld a crowd of twenty or so stunned onlookers who began applauding.
Newly arriving patrons of this garage sale were no doubt curious to observe a disheveled, wild-looking gentleman with kleenex wadded up his nose and tear stains on his cheeks leaving the scene.
I didn't have time to explain to them it is not often you find exactly what you are hunting for at a garage sale. It pays to dig around in dark, cramped places to turn up the really satisfying stuff.
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