We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming (ie. Writing Wednesday) to bring you this important message: I’m thinking that I ought to rename this blog “Adventures in Nose Blowing” because aside from the occasional pseudo-anthropological commentary on dating, it feels as though I write about little else these days.
Continuing in this vein, I’m going to invest in the cough medicine industry. And the cough drop industry. And the tissue industry. But not in the nasty Vicks brand my mother’s recently introduced into the Richter household—they’re evil.
The box of eucalyptus-scented tissues comes with a warning label that advises would be nose-blowers to keep said tissues away from their eyes. Now I’m not sure about the rest of you, but my nose is rather close to my eyes. As such, when I first made the mistake of blowing my nose with a Vicks tissue, my eyeballs caught wind of the eucalyptus-scented assailant immediately and would have jumped ship right then and there if not for my eyelids holding them back.
So yeah, it’s safe to say that I won’t be singing the praises of Vicks brand tissues any time soon.
I could of course buy my own tissues but this thought never occurs to me until I find myself at the bottom of the box wondering “Who the f*ck blew through all those tissues?” Similarly, I had never purchased my own socks until about six months ago when I noticed that all of my gym socks were rather mangy looking.
“Why the f*ck don’t I have any decent looking socks?” I wondered, pawing through my underwear drawer. Only then did it occur to me that I hadn’t asked Santa for socks that year and that I could, quite possibly, go to the mall and buy my own socks. This was something of a major epiphany for me.
At any rate, a fellow teaching artist I met at last weekend’s conference told me that it will take at least four years to build up my immune system so that my daily interactions with my preschoolers don’t send me crawling to the medicine cabinet every five minutes.
I’ll be nearly thirty by then. Heck, I could have a preschooler by then! Although considering my aversion to buying socks and my inability to remember to pick up such basic staples as tissues when I’m at the grocery store, I can’t imagine being responsible for buying somebody else socks, let alone diapers. As such, I should probably hold off on the whole procreation thing for a while longer.
Also, I should probably add “Must be able to buy your own socks” to the list of desirable traits on my Match.com profile.