Snot-Rockets in the Shower

An intimate relationship between two people is void of nothing - especially bodily fluids. Now, I'm not necessarily talking about those kinds of bodily fluids; not the glue that holds your thighs together post-sex, but the less appealing ones. Let us take, for instance, snot.

I will make a wild assumption and claim a majority of Americans (note that while I would normally add other areas of the world such as Britain or France, I refrain from doing so here because I am not as familiar with their people's cultural views on spit, snot, shit, semen, etc..) take bodily fluids for granted. I, myself, am in that majority, especially with regards to spit. Having spent six years of my life in band, nothing triggers my gag reflex more than the thought of a brass instrument player emptying his/her spit anywhere near me. The sounds of fuzzy horns moist with the spit of a brace-faced pre-teen and the fear that arose when my band director asked the French horns, who lined the row behind me to empty their "water" haunt my subconscious. However, I do realize that saliva, no matter the number of revolting qualities, is essential to the bodily function of a human being. As is snot. If anything, mucus provides more protection from bacterial and viral infections than any other bodily fluid. Oh, I'm sure you're thinking, "yeah - sounds all fine and dandy until you're trapped in an inevitable snot-scenario," and I'm here to tell you: you're right. However, instead of discrediting mucus because of its less-than-amiable qualities, I will share my journey of acceptance.

As a child I was fortunate enough to be in good health. Save for a few cases of strep and one nasty encounter with the flu, the only ailment that struck me on a regular basis was chronic nosebleeds (thanks to genetics). Ironically, I can attribute my nosebleeds to the lack of mucus in my body. Otherwise, I caught the occasional cold, and suffered no allergies until I turned 18 years-old, when, for some reason unknown to me, I developed seasonal allergies. Obviously this sudden toll on my overall health was jarring. I had spent my entire life in the Texas Panhandle - capital city for pollen-and-other-allergen-exchange via the regional wind trade - void of all allergy woes. The results were devastating. Without fail my sinuses begin to drain and it becomes impossible to sweep the floors at work without my nose producing a waterfall with every change in season. Thankfully, my boyfriend shares my quarterly misery, so instead of feeling like a nasty snot-monster, I know I am accepted among the one peer who counts.

My boyfriend is the shining star in my life who managed to solidify my appreciative attitude towards my own snot. Q. is the first  man I have lived with, and hopefully the only man I will ever live with. According to cultural trend, when a man and a woman move in together, new stresses pose threats to the relationship. Q. and I, however, never genuinely felt any of the pressures we expected: the two of us are equally docile, and do not enjoy fighting. This isn't to say we don't fight at all - but I can confidently say we have never called one another names, and cohabiting has been the easiest living situation we have ever been in. Our relationship is void of fights regarding who needs to clean the bathroom, or do laundry, or who is responsible for taking care of the cats, and the less-than-agreeable habits we possess are, in every sense, tolerable. In fact, one of Q.'s worst habits is one of the funniest things about him. One night, about a week after we moved in to our apartment, we hopped into the shower after a long day at work. Q. and I have a nightly ritual of hot-boxing our little bathroom before our shower, and this night the strain was particularly pungent, causing an intense case of the giggles. Midway through our shower, right before Q. washed his face, he interrupted his shower routine, folded his hands together in front of his face, and blew his nose. 

I will admit, I was visibly alarmed. He opened his hands, full of snot, and ran them under the shower stream, snotty water splashing on the shower mat right next to my feet. Both of us watched him rinse his hands, and looked up to make eye contact after we were both sure they were clean. He saw the look of bewilderment on my face, and the both of us burst into a fit of giggles. After managing after several gasps of air to ask the question, "What was that," I learned that this is something he usually does every shower. Apparently the steam from the shower softens his sinuses, and blowing his nose becomes much easier. The shamelessness was evident, and I loved him all the more. Gross as it may have been, he did not apologize for the action that relieved his discomfort. After his explanation, I looked him right in the eyes, folded my hands together in front of my face, and blew my nose. Every night since, we, as a united, shameless couple, blow our snot-rockets in the shower.