Friday, March 31, 2006
Snot Rockets
When I was in 9th grade I sat next to a really gross boy named John in band. He played the trombone, too. He thought he was hot stuff because he was on the freshman football team. He was not hot stuff. He was not cute and he was not very nice. He used to think it was funny to do disgusting things like pick his nose and eat it and fart. His favorite way to make me angry was to blow snot rockets at my feet. Oh, he thought it was hilarious. I loathed him all through high school.
A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting outside a building because I was early for an appointment. It was a professional building housing a bank and other offices. I was watching a man who was on the front stairs and bent at the waist. I was beginning to wonder if he was alright or if he needed help. Then I realized what he was doing. He was blowing a snot rocket, right there in front of the building! I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to kick him in the shins.
Worst of all, though, are the snot rockets of my own dear husband. That's right. I'm married to a man who blows snot rockets in the shower. Something about the steam or some such nonsense. It's a load of bull. I don't blow snot rockets in the shower and there is just as much steam. It makes me SO MAD! He claims that I just like to complain and that the snot goes straight down the drain. He's delusional. I know this because I'm the one who cleans the shower and tub every week. As I'm wiping the tub down, I'll start absent-mindedly scraping at a crusty on the side of the tub with my fingernail. Then I realize that I'm scraping off a booger! I want to scream. I want to throw up. I want to kick him in the shins!
When I was in 9th grade I sat next to a really gross boy named John in band. He played the trombone, too. He thought he was hot stuff because he was on the freshman football team. He was not hot stuff. He was not cute and he was not very nice. He used to think it was funny to do disgusting things like pick his nose and eat it and fart. His favorite way to make me angry was to blow snot rockets at my feet. Oh, he thought it was hilarious. I loathed him all through high school.
A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting outside a building because I was early for an appointment. It was a professional building housing a bank and other offices. I was watching a man who was on the front stairs and bent at the waist. I was beginning to wonder if he was alright or if he needed help. Then I realized what he was doing. He was blowing a snot rocket, right there in front of the building! I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to kick him in the shins.
Worst of all, though, are the snot rockets of my own dear husband. That's right. I'm married to a man who blows snot rockets in the shower. Something about the steam or some such nonsense. It's a load of bull. I don't blow snot rockets in the shower and there is just as much steam. It makes me SO MAD! He claims that I just like to complain and that the snot goes straight down the drain. He's delusional. I know this because I'm the one who cleans the shower and tub every week. As I'm wiping the tub down, I'll start absent-mindedly scraping at a crusty on the side of the tub with my fingernail. Then I realize that I'm scraping off a booger! I want to scream. I want to throw up. I want to kick him in the shins!
