Dear
I think it’s high time I introduce myself to you; we are, after all, joined at the maxilla. I am what you call a sensitive soul. I know what food the restaurant is selling down the street. I warn you of the disaster in the public restroom. It is through none but me that essential oils reach you where you need them most. We are inseparable, you and me. Two peas in a pod.
It’s possible, however, that I haven’t been the best at communicating with you. It’s true that relationships work best with honest and open dialogue, so let me put it this way. Buddy. Pal. Partner. Mate. Bruv. Comrade. I’ve been hanging outside the bandana all year; it’s time to let me in on the mask. The missus (Sinus) is making me sleep on the couch now because she doesn’t want a dirty, unprotected louse like me hanging around. And the kids, oh god the kids. They are scared. These lungs are quaking. I tuck them in each night and tell them everything will be OK. They want what we all want. N-o v-i-r-u-s. We’ve agreed not to say it so the twins don’t get startled. You know how those coughing fits are. One second you’re fine and then the next it’s pulmonary beatboxing. I can’t guarantee to you or the twins that won’t happen unless you do me a solid pull and that mask up.
Maybe now you understand better my vexation at being left out in the cold, alone in the grocery store, and unprotected in the cesspool that is our world. Maybe now you will understand the shame it causes me to perch up, out over your mask as we peruse the frozen food aisle. How humiliating is it to poke out like a sore thumb, practically waving at every passer-by, like a zit you cannot pop. Oh wait, this one you can. I usually turn my nose up at lazy metaphors but dire times call for dire measures! Yes, I know, you mistake my coziness under cover of cloth as suffocation, but no, let me reassure you that I am fine. You are fine. We are fine. Take a deep breath … There is no danger here … under the mask … Remember those essential oils? How calm they make you feel … yeah … me too. UNDER THE MASK.
Let’s say, for example, just thinking out loud here, just playing devil’s advocate, what if I do catch something? What if something does get past me — and you know lots of things can get past me — and we wake up one day and I can’t smell anything anymore. What then? What use to you are your precious essential oils? I’m not going down alone so you better prepare to lose that sweet sense of taste, too. Oh yeah, I’ll rip it right out from my pal down there; he and I go wayyy back. I’ll just snatch it up and who knows when you’ll get it back. I’m snotty like that.
And who knows, maybe, maybe, one day I’ll leave. That’s right. I’ve put up with this for years and maybe one day I won’t put up with it any longer! What do ya think about that? What, are you gonna follow me to my mother’s house and stand outside telling me you’ve changed and the kids miss me and we can’t afford the divorce lawyers because you still haven’t paid back your father for that loan he gave you so that you could buy a boat? A BOAT. We live in the suburbs, Jerry! Where are we gonna float on a boat?
Now, I know you must be busy with letters from your hands about washing them and your stomach about avoiding romaine, but put the side-chicks on hold for a second and spare me a thought and pull the ma — yeah, I think you get the picture.
Compromise, compromise, compromise. It’s all about compromise. I don’t make a fuss and you stop being stuffy. Otherwise … I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little essential oils too!
Sincerely,
The Nose
