I had THE most terrifying experience this week. It has never happened to me before and I pray that it NEVER happens again. Cheese and crackers. I may need counselling. This week, whilst delicately trimming my nose hair – my nose hair trimmer exploded – UP MY NOSE.
Now this may not seem like such big deal, however I can assure you, it ********** is. When a small cutting device, not very far from your brain, malfunctions, makes a strange noise, and then sends debris flying in all directions, it causes one to take a moment I can tell you.
Nose hair trimmer
The trimmer in question is ‘multi-functional’ and was a recent gift from my wife. I hadn’t actually asked for a nose hair trimmer, she’d just presented me with one? Not for my birthday or wedding anniversary or anything, just a bolt-out-of-the-blue. Thus, she seemed to be implying that she finds my nose revolting. How rude.
Sure she’d wrapped it all up with: “It does side burns and beards with it’s different attachments” (seemingly ignoring the fact that I can’t grow a beard and thus do not need to trim one) but I got the subtext. ‘You repulse me with your straggly nose’. I couldn’t help but feel slighted as I assembled the Babyliss 700 in preparation for Operation – Stop Revolting Your Wife.
Looking in the mirror as I wiggled a vibrating cylinder up my nose, I pondered where my life had gone? It seemed but moments since I was happily riding my bike waiting to be called in by mum for my tea. Where was the little boy with grazed knees yet to discover the magical powers of his penis? Where was the kid that would do literally anything for a Curly Wurly? The man that looked back at me in the mirror looked a bit too grey and jowely for my liking. Not bad for 41 years old I suppose, maybe I should think about dyeing my temples to – BOOM!!!!!
A bit flew up. A bit flew out. And the churning noise and smell of burning that came from inside my head caused my eyes to water. My fight or flight response must have kicked in, because for some reason I ran from the bathroom, into the bedroom, swore, sort of jogged on the spot in panic, and then ran back into the bathroom. Stupid Mother Nature and her mechanisms. It seems I would have made a good gazelle.
It is worth noting that nobody came to my rescue. Nobody called out out check if I was okay? Nobody appeared to give a shit that I’d nearly died. Can you divorce your entire family?
I stood there shaking in the aftermath. Such was the force of the upward motion, I was left with a sensation up my left nostril, that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Literally. Was it just the feeling of being bonked up the hooter all unexpected by shrapnel? Or, WAS IT A PIECE OF NOSE HAIR TRIMMER LODGED UP MY NOSE?
I am pleased to report that after some frantic searching and swearing, all trimmer parts were accounted for and my left nostril, though traumatised, was clear. My right nostril however was still full of unsightly nose hair, and now we had a problem, because there was NO WAY I was sticking that THING back up my nose. Sorry Babyliss – but a zero star review. Sorry Wifey, but a hairy nose is the life for me.
I felt off balance. One nostril was bushy, the other in need of triage and a lie down. I didn’t ask for any of this…..
I spent much of the rest of the day inspecting the difference in hair content between my left and right nostril, whilst my wife laughed at me and my trimmer-brush-with-death. I experimented with trying to push the hair back up my nose but to no avail. My son suggested I should get a nose hat – we are currently in the design stage. Watch this space.
The wider point is that it would seem that I’m growing hair in all the wrong places. This is embarrassing to me. At the tender age of forty one, I can’t grow a sexy goatee or some manly man stubble. My arms look like those of a thirteen year old girl and my legs like sanded lamp posts painted Brilliant White. But, annoyingly, it would seem I can muster a plentiful bushy nose garden without even trying. Without even being in the slightest bit aware. This just adds to my belief that Karma and I have fallen out. And that God hates me.
It’s not just my nose. *sigh*
Unannounced hair was further found just the other week at the hairdressers. Martin, my long suffering hair-stylist, after affording me my monthly shearing, and whilst brushing the hair from my shoulders, came out with this:
” Do you mind if I just do something – it’s really bugging me?”
I had no idea what he was talking about, as I was in a happy world of my own staring at myself in the big mirror. But regardless I responded in the affirmative. I’m a trusting Joe innit. And with that, my delicate sense of self came further crashing down. Martin took out a pair of very long scissors, scissors that I have not seen before, and started to trim my ******* eyebrows. Oh the shame. The absolute ********* shame.
I suspected from his demeanour that he wasn’t picking up on my personal horror levels. This was confirmed when he glibly informed me, whilst snippy-snippy-snipping, that:
“You’ve got some very long grey eyebrow hairs that make you look like Denis Healy”.
I attempted to play it all down and be all humorous, you know, to hide my inner pain and all that. Being a clown has pushed the pain away for four decades, why stop now? I suggested that my Healy brows must have just sprouted that morning, due to all the rain yesterday and too much yeast in my diet? I mused that I should keep an eye on that. HAHAHAHAHAHA.
Martin, bereft of heart, kindly informed me that no, he’d noticed them on previous visits, but didn’t want to say anything in case he upset me. I assured him that I wasn’t upset or offended, and yes gave my consent to have my eyebrows cut on a regular basis.
This was my outside reaction. My inside reaction was to spy the other customers in the corner of my minds eye and wonder how they would recount this to their friends on Facebook. I feared that I may be a star before teatime but for all the wrong reasons. ‘Please Like and Share if you find this man repulsive’ I’m sure the girl sweeping all the hair up was giggling. I couldn’t look at myself in the hairdresser’s mirror any more which is saying something.
Anyway, apparently I do not need a separate appointment for my eye-brows to be cut, this can be done as part of my usual hair appointment. So that’s good news. I suppose a day will come when my eyes and ears require an appointment of their own….
Back to my nose.
My wife, spent most of her day begging me to put the exploding nose hair trimmer back up my nose and give it another go. I was not sure whether this was because she found the hair up my right nostril SO upsetting that she was prepared to risk my brain damage? Or because she wanted to see how I dealt with a secondary explosion up my nose? My in-death benefits are substantial….maybe she wants rid of me? Either way, I flat refused – NO WAY LADY. And then the tweezers came out…..
More hair pain
As a man I have never given birth. I have never been shot. I have never passed a kidney stone and I have never opened an umbrella up my bottom (thank you Robin R.I.P). However NONE of these things can be as painful as your wife wrenching errant nose hair from the sanctity of your nostril with a pair of the devil’s tweezers.
I swear it felt like she had her foot on my chest and was extracting my wisdom teeth. The noises that sprang forth from my soul were guttural. I screamed. I squealed. I swore. I yelped. I even tried mooing through pain, much like I had heard the midwife telling my wife to do whilst she was giving birth to my daughter on the living room floor. I can only imagine what the neighbours must have been thinking? Were it not for the sounds of my wife and children cackling in delight as I writhed in agony, I suspect the Police would have been called.
Hair today, gone tomorrow
By the end of that day, both my nostrils were bereft of any hair WHAT-SO-EVER. They weren’t just trimmed, they’d been raped. Purged of wisp or whisker. How I’m supposed to filter foreign particles from the air, or collect moisture with bald nose holes, God only knows? I’ll probably be walking around with all kinds of rubbish lodged up my nose now, without my lovely nose hair to protect me. Two bone dry nostrils full of societal debris. If you come across me in the street and see me with anything up my nose, please don’t comment. I’m not sure my delicate sense of self could take it. Oh and stay way from my back, sack and crack. You have been warned.
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