By SCOTT SAALMAN
Scaramouch
At first glance, it appeared that a cricket had crawled inside my nose, one of its thin, hind legs the only thing visible, dangling from my left nostril.
My eyes did a double-take in the rearview mirror.
A cricket in my nose – a bizarre notion, I know.
I felt violated by nature, a natural sentiment for anyone when a bug invades a bodily orifice. I’ve read of people who go to their doctor to cure a clogged ear, only to learn that their hearing impairment is due to a cockroach covertly crawling into their ear canal overnight. There are obviously some very sound sleepers out there, of which I am not one.
At a stop sign, I did a triple-take.
It was still there, that cricket’s leg.
I tugged at it, bracing myself for full-bodied bug emergence.
Instead, I experienced a sharp, eye-watering pain.
It was not a cricket at all trying to navigate my nostril, but an exposed nose hair, my first experience with a nose hair gone wild.
I was barely 40 then, yet I felt like one of those “old men” who used to gross me out as a kid when I saw hairs growing out of their ears and noses. I hoped I would never reach that advanced age when personal hygiene is no longer a blip on the radar screen. I’m certain nose hair overgrowth was what prompted The Who to sing, “I hope I die before I get old.”
Once home, I snipped the hair with manicure scissors, rinsed it down the drain. Farewell, nose hair – my one-time freak of nature. Or so I thought.
The hair returned a few days later, finding its way home like a dog dumped in the country. I snipped it again, unaware that a vicious cycle had been put in motion. It was as if that first hair was a scout, signaling to the horde of hairs behind it to “Come on down!”
The nose hairs continue coming on down. My resistance makes them more determined. They descend in droves, like angry pack animals.
I’m on full-fledged dangler alert at the onset of the slightest nose itch. The nose hairs tend to go rogue at inopportune times – during business meetings, for instance – causing me to cover my mouth with my hand and place my forefinger over the hair to hide it.
I have also developed the unsightly habit of curling my upper lip so that it grazes my nose openings to feel for hanging hairs. It must look like I’m making fish lips. I gently blow into my nose to force the hair back inside – a temporary fix until I can snip it.
During travel, I keep a battery-powered nose hair trimmer in my glove compartment. It’s great for combating multiple hairs on the straight stretches. If you think texting and driving is dangerous, try trimming and driving – actually don’t. I pity anyone rear-ended at an intersection when such a device is aimed up their nose. It won’t be pretty.
My daughter, as a teen, was embarrassed by the nose hair trimmer. She slumped to the backseat floor, worried a passing friend might see me in action. Once, I insisted on walking her to the front door at a friend’s birthday party so I could meet the parents. “No, Dad. Let me go alone. You’ll embarrass me,” she pleaded. “No, I won’t,” I lied. Waiting for the hosts to open the door, just for fun, I took the trimmers from my pants pocket, turned them on, and stuck the device into my nose. I was never asked to take her to a party again.
It is cruel irony for a bald man like me to be tormented by all this nose hair growth. I have no choice, I guess, than to accept my proboscis problem, my follicle fate, much like I learned to accept my eroded pate long ago. That’s not to say I won’t look for a cure. Recently, a Google search led me to the world of nose hair waxing. A writer recounted how a “beauty therapist” scooped some “goo” out of “what looks like a vat of hot bubble gum” and stuffed it into a client’s nostril for 30 seconds. “And then … riiiiiip,” the writer wrote.
I guess they then had to call 9-1-1 to revive the client.
For now, I’ll say no to nose hair waxing and remain faithful to my pain-free nose trimmer. So, look away, please; I’m currently making fish lips.
Email Scott at scottsaalman@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @SaalmanScott.