What’s better than a good booger? You blow your nose and there’s that gratifying little thump, and then you find a green and yellow boulder in the Kleenex and wonder how that thing got into your nose in the first place.
When I was in 3rd grade, those were the ones I’d stick to the bottom of the desk during math class. By the end of the school year, I’d have a miniature mountain range of boogers under there, one that required a chisel and hammer to remove.
At least it gave the janitor something to do during summer break.
Or you’re at the tail end of a sinus infection and on the second to last day you fill the Kleenex with half a pound of funky goo. What is that crap, anyway? It’s no wonder you couldn’t breathe.
Sometimes life is a rotten trick.
The Nordic Warrior Queen and I argue about Kleenex. She likes to buy those big three packs of designer Kleenex at Target, like blowing your nose is making a fashion statement or something. I don’t get it. She has those flowery boxes of Kleenex all over the house. There are even a couple of them in the car.
Yet I’m generally content with a couple feet of Northern or even a paper towel, and when necessary, nothing. In my opinion, letting fly into the air is a perfectly normal way to clear your sinuses, even though she gets a disgusted look on her face when I do this. What’s wrong with it? Besides, the dog will clean up the mess for you.
The only time I use Kleenex is during flu season, when my nose is so red and irritated I’m ready to cut it off. At times like this, I want the Kleenex with the built-in lotion. They’re soft and soothing to a sore nose. But of course she doesn’t normally buy that kind: they cost more, you see, and we end up making a special trip to the store.
It’s all so complicated.
Something else I don’t understand are handkerchiefs. Sure, they might look natty hanging from the pocket of your suit coat, but do people actually use them? I guess they do, because the other day I saw this executive-looking fellow at the airport whip out his handkerchief, cut loose a big loogie, then wad the thing up and stick it back in his pocket.
His wife must really love doing his laundry.
I can’t think of anyone other than you that would write about Boogers, You have some imagination.