a memo from my nose to me

Dear Mistress,

The abuse I have been suffering over these past few days has prompted me to write you this letter. I sincerely believe that I deserve better treatment from you, given my years of loyal service.

Apart from being slightly slanted, I have always gracefully decorated your face, giving you no reason to be upset with me.

I have always assisted you in identifying dirty laundry from clean, even when it required sniffing through mountainous piles erected by you and your cohabitants.

I have withstood diapers, garbage, and digging out ancient fridge reserves. I have tolerated cooking experiments, that included onions, garlic, chilly peppers and undeterminable spice mixes the smell of which I’m sure I’ll take with me to the grave.

However, these past few days are bordering on intolerable, and I’m very close to resigning from my job as your nose.

I admit that prior to accepting the position on your face I have been notified that about 80% of human body consisted of water. However, nowhere in my contract did it state that I would be responsible for processing it all and at once.

Nor did anyone warn me about the sanding effect of paper towel applied to me every thirty seconds. I was promised occasional gentle taps with soft tissues. You not having the energy to search for those somewhere in the dungeons of the upstairs bathroom was not on the list of possible exceptions.

I’m already red. I know that. But I’m not auditioning for the position on Ronald MacDonald’s face, even if it is a coveted job. So please restrain the “human junior” from poking me in delight.

If my situation is not rectified immediately, I’m fully expecting to fall off.

Sincerely,

Your Nose.