Windy Schnozzola

 

Windy Schnozzola

 

My nostrils have been through some things. My Grandpa used to say “keep your nostrils clean” which sounds like a drug reference, but I think he was being silly rather than sniffing. Granny taught me to breathe through my nose because it was impolite to be a mouth-breather. The habit stuck as youths are softer clay, but I never got a satisfying inhalation that way. Aside from the gasps as I propelled from the water during front crawl.

As a toddler I would stare down dogs with a friendly grin, smiling in their fur-encased eyes. Humans were too friendly to me, so they didn’t warn of canine dangers. I would pick their wet black snouts and they would respond by licking inside my nostrils in submissive defense. Exposure to a variety of pathogens strengthens the immune system.

At fourteen, I would bragging about how I could take any other kids in our grade. Jimmy instigated “I think Johnny can take you.” I contradicted. We took it outside scrapping a minute or two. Pow, right in the sniffer! Nose bent to the left and my nostril deflated. Never quite got that fixed. I had to gasp from my jaw-unhinging face-gap, and leftie didn’t do much after that encounter.

I would clean house regularly. Sometimes a little blood, accidentally nicking some non-nugget. A dry type of beak. Neti pots spelled relief. And I was a blower, I was a sneezer, I was a midnight snotter. People would warn me that I shouldn’t expel that hard or I would blow a gasket, whatever that was, I probably blew it. Horny like a trumpet.

Did I mention I was a singer? Or a pitch screamer as I wailed rock and roll. I was a startlingly loud sneezer that would actually belt out “AH-CHOO!” I thought that was a bit of an exaggerated onomatopoeia, but I would articulate it with perfect percussive clarity when dust mites would crawl in my nostrils. It didn’t help I spent so much time in libraries.

So that’s about my snout. Till I’m old, grey and hard of sniffing.