Nose Hair Trimming

I have entered new realms of personal weirdness thanks to the ageing process and a biological urge to remain attractive to the opposite sex — specifically, my wife.

She has complained for a while now that hair has begun to sprout from my various orifices in a way she considers unseemly. Personally, I see this as just part of the overall package that is me. Surely she must love my whole — my brawny thighs, my winning smile, my smooth unwrinkled elbows, my nose-hair...

But, apparently not.

It started with my eyebrows a few years ago. In preparation for a significant birthday, she coerced me into getting my eyebrows trimmed while getting my semi-annual haircut. When I say “trimmed,” I mean “waxed”. An otherwise pleasant young woman applied hot wax to the area immediately above my eyes and then ripped it off with what I like to think of as “the cloth of sadism.” Then she attacked me with a pair of tweezers. I now know why they no longer allow these weapons on airliners.

My wife was pleased with the result for a while. But then she noticed other facets of my appearance in need of cosmetic surgery. E.g., the luxuriant hair flowing from my proboscis and the winningly eccentric tufts protruding from my ears. I fought against this affront to my manhood for many months.

But then, one Christmas, I received a gift from a friend. My charming spouse beamed as I held it in my hands. When I opened it she clapped her hands with glee. It was an electric nose hair trimmer.

For the last three weeks, I’ve been using the excuse that it needed to be fully charged before I switched it on lest I damage the battery. Tonight, though, I bowed to pressure and fired up the infernal device.

It is an odd feeling to take a madly vibrating phallus tipped with gnashing metal teeth and jam it up one’s nose. It takes a certain amount of preparation and focus. It does not help to have one’s spouse at one’s side jumping up and down like a schoolgirl after her first double espresso. After several false starts and a great deal of foul language, I forced her out of the bathroom and bolted the door.

Although terrifying, it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. I imagine if I had a clitoris in my nose (or any erectile tissue, really), it might have been downright enjoyable.

Once the deed was done, I surveyed the results. The inside of my nose was as smooth and clean as a fleshy Swiss subway tunnel. The sink was less so. It looked like a Malamute had shed all over it. I put the nefarious device back in its case and cleaned up the debris. There wasn't quite enough to make a sweater, but you could have made a start.

My wife was delighted with my new look, but I couldn't help worrying about the implications for my health and well-being. Surely, nose hair plays an important role in filtering out pathogens and pollutants. I had removed my natural air filtration system. My respiratory system was unprotected. Death by plague was now inevitable.

And what will happen with my mucus now? Presumably, the nose hair impeded its flow somewhat. Will I now have snot constantly draining out of my nostrils? Sure, my nostrils are sexy, but what will be the knock-on effects for the rest of my appearance?

I can only hope that the lack of protection those follicles would have afforded me won’t shorten my lifespan too much. Thankfully, we have many masks left over from the pandemic.

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An earlier version of this post was published on Medium.com.