I picked my nose today. ( I can hear ya’ll now…"congratulations…emily. way to go") In the car, while driving. I was stopped at a red light, with the same mindset as everyone else, “no one’s looking right now…of course they aren’t, no way…I’ll just get a quick pick on, a little dig goin, just real quick, while no one can see me. In broad daylight. Motionless at a red light, surrounded by several other motionless vehichles.”
Well, perhaps I am the only one who thinks such thoughts, but I doubt it. I’ve found, on several occasions, in numerous ways, that I am not unique. At least not as unique as I like to think I am. I mean, there’s not another Em Kempf out there (at least I think not) tailored exactly as I am, but there are many many others cut from the same cloth. And all those from this same cloth and some other cloths of varying thickness and pattern and material are all sewn together willy-nilly in this big ass quilt. That Gramma Creation quilted in a rockin chair on the front porch of the universe made of stars and air while Grampah Almighty played the banjo and ate sunflower seeds.
It was a biggun. The perfect pluck. Only took a couple deft scoops of the index to secure. The precious cargo was almost out when something went horribly wrong. I just knew it in my heart of hearts, something had gone array. The crustacian was, it was..it was..missing. Gone. MIA. The tip of my finger, naked. Bare. Vunerable. Without booger. Where once perched a proud nugget of glory, there was but air. (haha..butt-air)
My co-worker just asked me what I was writing and I told her.Oh pickin’ my nose, God, the universe and stuff. She might have thought me to be sarcastic or attempting funnyness. But no, oh no. I was as exposed to her with my honest reply as the doomed nostril tidbit was to the elements. She could not relate to my experience of pickin in public. I asked her if she felt the same triumphant rush when she caught others 'pickin out loud' so to speak. Catching them in the act and thinking “ YAHHAH! I see you! I so saw that man..you are NOT alone my pickin friend! YAHAHHAHA!”
No, no relation.
wait no, no more like a medium sigh.
Panic overtook me as I glanced frantically around for my fallen morsel. The light turned green. My eyes scanned chestal section, seat belt, lap, arm, finger? Dammit! I wiped my face. I wiped my face again. I accelerated. I thought to myself , this can probably wait, I’m driving. Driving’s more important than this. But..FOCK! Whereisitwhereisitwhereisit? Whereisit?
What if I never find it? And it’s like on my cheek or hanging off an eyelash or on my neck. Grinning at the world and just seething with plans to mortify me in front of my peers with grossness and akwardness. What if I am talking to someone later today and it’s perched on me somewhere super noticable and they just stare at it and fail to tell me because they think it’s a mole. They are to embarrassed to face the unpalatable awkwardness that would be sure to follow if they mention I have a massive boogey on my chin when in actuality it turns out to be permenant feature that I am extremely sensitive and insecure about and and and. And!
Because that has happened to me. Sort of. This guy I know, name undisclosed, had a, what I thought was a jellybean, but turned out to be a mole, near his armpit/collar bone. I tried to pluck this “jellybean” from it’s strange resting place and was ABSOLUTELY FUCKING mortified to discover in a cold sort of chill that it was NOT in fact a jelly bean, and that it WAS in fact attached to his body. I froze and then burst into laughter (to keep from sobbing) and profusely apologized and turned bright red. Which I do so very often. I could sell embarrassment in a bottle and make a fortune. Or is it humility?
I found it. I plucked it delicately from it’s nesting place on my carseat and crushed it into tiny flaky little crubs of it’s former self.
When I was a small child I used to wipe all my boogers on the wall beside my bed. And one day my dad and I moved my room around and the wall was exposed in the process. There was a rectangular blobbish patch of hardened boogerness cemented to the area, once hidden by my bed, now out in the open. My father turned to me repulsed and professed his dismay and disappoint in my narsty "collection". I giggle now just thinkin of it. I really saw no problem with the whole thing. It didn't seem strange or disgusting to me. Tissues were suggested and today I am proud to say that I do not wipe my boogers on the wall anymore, I roll them into little rubbery balls b/t thumb and forefinger and let them fall as they may. No evidence. No hardened snot cemetery.
it is sunny outside and I feel my brain turning to zombie. so i am going to go play in the sun and leave this story to marinate.
FIN! (or is it....)