Spring has sprung and if we didn’t need our respiratory systems, the FringeFamily would be wonderful; however, we haven’t learned how to live without breathing. My daughter is coughing barking worse than my neighbor’s dog; my son walks around with an asthma inhaler hanging from his lips; I lost my voice, and even FringeMan has been reduced to allergy pills.
So in honor of snot, I give you this post, originally published on 2/9/09.
Genius does what it must, and talent does what it can.
– Edward Bulwer-Lytton
Some have genius, others talent, and yet there are those few who amble through life void in their very being of all skills useful and necessary. Fortunately for Napoleon, he’s got skills.
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Unfortunately for me, I don’t have skills…like you know, nunchuku skills, bow hunting skills, computer hacking skills…
I don’t have spitting skills either. Normally I wouldn’t count this as an aptitude deficit or a character flaw; however, an individual with as many boogies as I posses needs certain skills, namely spitting skills. My lack of technique was never more apparent than on a road trip to Maine one chilly morning.
Shortly after we wed, FringeMan and I had the screwy idea to purchase a house in Maine. Not just any old house would do for the new FringeCouple…my, no. It needed to be house nearly condemned with no electricity on the second floor, no real kitchen, and no usable bathroom.
Our first home is a series of posts. I only mention the house to explain our weekly trek from New York to Maine. Each Friday night after work, we’d hop in our car and drive to Maine to toil (I do mean work, sweat, bleed, labor and travail) on our “new” home.
For reasons that escape my memory, this particular weekend we left during the pre-dawn hours of Saturday. Notice I said PRE-DAWN?
I’m not a morning person. A mommy bear protecting her young cubs is more cordial than I in the pre-dawn, dawn, and slightly post-dawn hours of the morning. My children know that when I stumble from bed, it is their job to silently hug me and point me in the direction of the coffee pot. Sudden movements, commotions, and happy chatter are NOT welcome in the morning.
During the hours of first light, my ordinary skills do not perform at peak capacity…spitting skills included. However, my sinuses work double time engulfing my nasal cavity, throat, and chest with goo as thick as a jellyfish and as abundant as cockroaches in a New York City tenement.
This booger problem requires no less than 15 boxes of tissues be scattered throughout the house. Paper towels are preferred for the first blow due to their ability to handle extreme pressure.
On this chilly morning, I was trapped in a vehicle without a tissue. Unwillingly I coughed up a booger that filled my mouth like you only wish your jelly donuts were filled. I had to rid myself of this gelatinous ooze.
FringeMan, the ever helpful new husband, says “Spit it out the window.”
He hadn’t yet been privy to my lack of skills. Hoping for the best, I rolled down my window. With the wind in my face, I blew with the fervency of a child blowing the candles on his birthday cake and silently wishing for a new bicycle. All appeared well. I was free of my snot, or so I assumed.
About an hour later, we stopped at a Dunkin Donuts in Connecticut to get coffee. As we entered the cramped coffee shop, I decided to head to the bathroom first. I’d almost reached the bathroom when FringeMan pulled me back by the sweatshirt. I stumbled as he burst out laughing.
“Whaaat?” I grumpily glared at him.
He could only point to the back of my shoulder. Dried into a cement-like compound was my ginormous booger. I wasn’t free after all. Apparently the loathsome wind had blown the snot back in my face. Thankfully it missed and landed on my shoulder.
Some women carry chips on their shoulders. Me, I just carry a wad of snot.