Sorry, that’s my nose. I don’t know why, but lately it’s begun whistling like a kettle on the boil. Tootling and squeaking to beat the band. Not all the time, not even most of the time, but often enough to be really irritating.
It’s hard to maintain your focus when you have an unpredictable woodwind section camped on your cheeks. At any moment, a C-sharp could come blasting out of there and startle the beejeebers out of you. It’s happened, you know. Often enough that I might be developing a tic or, at least, an unfortunate wince.
These musical interludes are most common at night or maybe that’s just when they’re the most noticeable. As soon as my head hits the pillow I’m treated to a moonlight serenade. No, not a romantic ballad played beneath my window, but an ungodly screeching from the middle of my face.
Neither blowing nor sniffing is of any help. Tossing and turning are useless, too. Lying face down on my pillow helps, but only until I have to inhale again. I’ve entertained the idea of loading a couple of firecrackers in there, one per nasal passage, but only in the most desperate instances. I find the thought relaxing.
Most nights I lie there impersonating a squeak toy, the dog cocking his head in wonder. As I listened to last night’s performance, it came to me in a flash; my very talented and musical nose was doing a cover of Tainted Love, by Soft Cell.
Sometimes I feel I’ve got to (honk, beep)
Run away (squeak, whistle) I’ve got to (wheeze, tweet)
Get away (tootle, snorf)
From the pain you drive into the heart of me
How can a person sleep with that cacophony going on? Why couldn’t it play something appropriate for the hour, like Brahm’s Lullaby or Moon River? Nah, my schnoz likes techno music. I don’t, but my nose? Big fan. Bird calls, too. Which is silly, considering it’s winter, no birds.
And that’s my life here in the land of frozen tundra. I tootle and chirp intermittently as I go about my business. Little kids think they hear a choochoo when I’m about. They scrutinize me carefully, so I breathe through my mouth. The choochoo stops and they lose interest. Until I close my mouth and the choochoo starts. They catch on eventually.
Kids are fun, aren’t they?
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