Last Tuesday, while taking my early morning shower, I felt a twinge of pain on my nose. After drying, I cleared the steam off the bathroom mirror and carefully regarded my face ( no pleasant task).
To my dismay, I saw a red lump on the right side of my snoot. The area was painful to the touch. The spreading crimson swell told me that it would soon be painful to look at as well. My life was about to change as I welcomed a huge nose zit into the world.
The next forty-eight hours proved to be building days. I battled the bugger as best as possible with a Clearasil cream I found in the medicine chest. At that time, I could still look people in the face and forget about my budding buddy from time to time.
Thursday, however, brought me to full bloom. After getting the morning coffee started, I stumbled into the bathroom and looked in the mirror adjusting my eyes to the light. As it turned out, I did not need to worry about any adjustment. My nose, not the prettiest bump of skin on the best of days, featured a volcano-like tower on the right side, crimson with red hot magma.
With the work day one hour away, fucking with the pus filled devil would be a bad idea. I toyed with the notion of putting some concealer on the summit, but decided that keeping the area clean would be my best strategy. I would have to make it through the work day dealing with co-workers and new clients on a face to pimple-face basis.
“Hello, I’m Pimple form Guaranteed Furniture, here to look at your dining room table.”
When I arrived home Thursday evening after working out at the Y, where I had hoped that the strain of a vigorous bench press might cause the volcano to blow, I decided to take matters into my own hand. Literally.
Back to the bathroom, taking in the enemy under the harsh lights of the vanity, I primed the pump by pushing and prodding the area. This hurt like hell and made my eyes water. I am a warrior at heart, armed with the belief that something this painful must provide a burst of pus followed by relief, sleep and recovery. I would wake up in the morning with a bounce in my step and a flesh colored nose on my face.
No. No pus, no relief, no normalcy. No.
The result of all my pushing and pressure was increased size and redness. I was now the proud owner of one and one half noses, all red. Not exactly the result I was looking for. Oh yeah, my son Jackson also informed me that the magic Clearasil I had been using the last three days, was about two years past expiration and as useful as spreading semen on my nose (the semen crack is mine, not his).
Friday. One final work day spent avoiding people, looking the other way (like that would help), and making lame jokes about a teenage predicament in the center of a middle aged face.
The talk between co-worker and co-drinker Anthony and I was centered less on work and more on how the object centered on my face might affect Friday Night Bug Juice. I opined that an obstacle this hideous might keep me hunkered down at home; something that sciatic nerve damage, family obligations and common sense have not been able to accomplish. Little Brother went back four years to a Friday evening spent at an outdoor bar, a pimple on the center of his nose glistening in the setting summer sun marring his otherwise handsome countenance, as the reason I must go out this evening. I never really considered staying home, but his tale from long ago was so filled with angst that I could not bring myself to tell him about my prior decision.
After my evening shower, I consulted wife Andrea about how best to cover the mountain (Tony suggested a nose prosthetic like the rapper from Digital Underground). She was very helpful and picked the right shade of cover-up to go with my pasty Irish skin. I applied and blended to the best of my ability, then stood back and regarded my situation.
I had an angry mountain of nasty on the side of my nose covered with silly putty.
Thank God for alcohol and a dark basement bar. After a few moments with my friends Tony and Miller Light, I forgot about the pain, both mine from the zit and that which I inflicted on those unfortunate souls who noticed a red glow and followed the mysterious light to my face.
The following morning, I decided to wash the crap off my face and see where I stood. I took the top of my buddy clean off and watched in horror as blood dripped down my face. Now, my nose was both red and scabby. Hooray!
The following evening, a hot shower reopened the wound and I could not get the damn thing to coagulate. I resorted to putting a piece of paper towel on the wound, as if I had cut myself shaving. I fell asleep on the couch with the blood dotted paper towel stuck to my nose. What an asshole!
The final indignation came Monday morning as I reported to the dentist for a 9 am appointment. I’m not sure if you are aware of this, but the dentist trains a high powered light on the center of your face when doing his work. I can’t catch a break.
I have five days till Friday. I hope to have a nose left by then.
Cheers! Jim
