He turned the corner and caught her picking her nose.
Knuckle deep.
There was a moment of awkward silence followed by her grabbing her purse and attempting to flee the scene of the crime. Understandable, as they’d only been dating a few weeks and she assumed he would be repulsed by what he’d just witnessed.
He knew he had only two options: watch her walk away, or come clean and tell her the truth.
He opted for the latter.
“Stop. Please. It’s ok,” he began.
She stopped.
“I… pick my nose too.” He looked down at his feet. “It’s why I approached you in the first place. At the bar, I was watching you when you didn’t think anyone was. I saw you picking your nose that night.” By the last few words, his voice was barely audible.
“So…” she said haltingly, “you thought I was attractive because I picked my nose?”
He laughed. “No. I thought you were cute… and the fact that you picked your nose was sort of intriguing. You looked vulnerable in a way.”
The conversation that followed was odd and romantic and twisted and a big relief for both of them. Weeks later, they moved in together and picked their noses whenever they wanted. Not gratuitously mind you, but without feeling the stigma associated with it. Each of them had never been happier.
And then one night, he suggested something.
My values, our values, aren’t about pointing fingers. They are about offering a helping hand.
-Kathleen Blanco
Something odd and romantic and twisted. They had just finished a particularly sweet scene, feeding each other grapes as they watched a movie on the couch. Once again, his arm moved towards her but his hand did not hold a grape. She watched it move towards her. A single finger was extended from his hand and made its way to her nose.
Their eyes met.
She moved away slightly, unsure if it was really his intention to put the finger in her nose.
It became clear he was.
One does not play the piano with one’s fingers: one plays the piano with one’s mind.
-Glenn Gould
She closed her eyes, moved her head back to its originally position and waited.
She felt his finger enter her nasal cavity and a shiver ran down her spine.
He closed his eyes and rooted around her nose for a full minute. When he was done he opened them and saw her staring at him.
She was smiling.
Slowly, she lifted her hand and moved it towards his face. Her index finger crept towards his nose and he closed his eyes and tilted his head back.
For both of them, it was like she had stuck a fork in an outlet.
Although they both knew that the nose contained bacteria, they were both glad they weren’t wearing gloves. They both knew rhinotillexomania might be a form of compulsive disorder and they both didn’t care. They both knew love was tricky and didn’t make any guarantees.
They didn’t care.
They had that night. That wonderful night.
And they knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the dried out mucus that moves to the front of the nose can make its way back toward the back of the nasal passage and down the throat if not removed. What else did they need?
Life is just a flick of the fingers. Let’s face it. And any little bit – you can expand it or enrich it, I think you want to push that and do it.
-Peter Beard