I have hated my nose since, hmmmm, I guess probably since 6th grade, when I had my school picture taken and it arrived back in that big envelope, which you open with anticipation, only to find that somehow the photographer had not only captured my hair, parted straight down the middle, a Glamour Don’t if you weren’t born with a classic button nose, or unless you were Cher, standing on end (EPIC static electricity head) and the perfect angle of my nose– pointing down in such a way that I resembled the Wicked Witch of the North’s less attractive sister. Really. I wish I could find it, but I think I might have, wisely, destroyed every copy. Even my parents didn’t want to buy it.

Anyway, I used to daydream of having a smaller shnoz. I used to sit and sing to the record player while I held my thumb to uplift my proboscis in hopes that it might stay that way (I know. How did I even get in to college). I prayed for a nose job. And I learned my lesson on the picture posing. If I tipped my head back some, my nose wouldn’t point down, a la my 6th-grade disaster. I think I was doing a full-on backbend in my senior photo. At some point in my 20’s I was working at an ad agency and I got a blunt chin length haircut, only to come back to work and have the creative director tell me I looked just like Barbara Streisand (I’m pretty sure I took to my bed for a few days).

Now, I would like to stop here and tell you that the truth is that given my heritage, I was very lucky in the beak department. My mother had a very good-sized nose, with an actual ball on the end of it. Yup. Truth. But it was my dad’s nose that really took the prize. He had a classic hooked nose that protruded outward about…..well, let’s just say, I’m betting you could use his nose to measure how far away you’re currently supposed to be from other people. That big. So, you know, I could have been much worse off in the nose department, and as I got older, I recognized my good fortune, such as it was.

So, you can imagine that this might be thrilling for me, to have to wear a mask out and cover my nose, right? This might well be my moment! Yes and no. It’s kind of fun having people not know what a big honker I have underneath my makeshift masks, but it’s also awful because every mask I’ve tried totally smushes my nose down so that I can hardly breathe. (Still those damn upturned nose girls have it easier.) So, it’s a mixed bag. Although, back in sixth grade it might have been a lifesaver if I’d had one on in that class photo.

Gratitude for having a healthy nose, at this point!

Purell hugs and kisses.