by Emily Adams
Cold Season 2016
Dear Nose,
Please, turn the brightest shade of red and flake around the nostrils. It’s your time to shine. Seriously, shine away. Your Rudolph-esque beauty is impossible to hide, because physically, you burn to the touch—thank you for that. The sensation keeps things exciting.
Truly, I’ve never enjoyed anything more. Stuffing my pockets full of Kleenex, used and unused—paper towels even, old math assignments—whatever I can manage to keep you together; it’s exhilarating. I feel like a kid in a candy store, robbing the place, cargo pants filled to the brim with chocolate pops and gummy bears. You understand, right, nose? Well, anyway.
Your invisible cuts? Don’t get me started on those hidden gems. What an addition to the whole shebang. To know or not know if a wipe will make tears tumble down my face, in public, in private, but mostly in public. It is like a choose your own adventure game. And I love games. Nose, you know me better than anyone nose me.
The sneezing is the icing on the cake. Each “God Bless You” sends tingles from my head to my toes. Snot on my sleeve? Snot on my cheek? Snot on my neighbor? What a thrill. The meager apology I’m forced to give once you’ve worked your magic brings me one step closer to a new friend. My utmost gratitude to you, nose.
Battle on, against the highest dose of Mucinex I can afford. Show antibiotics that your wrath knows no bounds. I support your antinomy. What an independent nose you are and what a bright, crusty future you have.
Sincerely,
Your Body
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