Sitting calmly, working away on my computer I reach up and brush my upper lip, hunting an elusive tickle that is afflicting my every breath. Fearing some phlegmatic detritus, I brush away, looking for the fearsome boogers. But none are discovered. There must be another source, another bur under my saddle.
I reach up again, making sure no one is looking, and brush the actual nostril. Now I know what you are thinking. No, I am not picking, just brushing. The distinction is not only important, but vast. No picking. Just brushing. Seriously. And the brush causes a tickle too. Now my indignation is kindled, just a little bit. I don't care for things tickling my olfactory mucosa. That will come to a stop.
Carefully ensuring no one is watching, I find the offending fiber and grasp it between forefinger and thumb. Then, in one swift motion, I pull.
Instantly tears fill my eyes. A blinding pain explodes through my head, paralyzing me. My nose starts to run and I reach out, grasping whatever I can in order to steady myself, drunk with the agony. Slowly, surely it subsides and I return to my self. Wanting to relish my victory over the keratinized fiend that vexed me so, I take a big, cleansing breath.
*Tickle*
I shut my eyes, rage gripping me in its awful maw. The hair is still there, still tormenting me, still fluttering in my respiratory breeze. I rush to a mirror, light on, nose upturned seeking visual confirmation of what I know to be true. The fiber is still there, lovingly embraced by its follicle, defiantly standing firm. I grasp it again, knowing full well what to expect and yank. Fury numbing me to the pain, I stare through watery eyes at my empty fingertips. I try again, to no avail.
In a frantic state I rummage through my wife's effects, searching for the tweezers I know must be somewhere. Deliriously, I find them, hold them up high, and then put them to work. I can see the hair, firmly between the two tongs. I know this time will be the one. I close my eyes, steady myself, and pull.
Time passes. I finally return to myself, the pain fading. I inhale a crisp, clean breath. No maddening tickles this time. I inspect the tweezers and, sure enough, there it is. A huge, defiant hair. In its death throws it looks at me, an evil grin on its little hair face and whispers with its last breath:
"My brothers will avenge me. . ."