We were in the car on our way to the beach. Palm trees passed by as I peered out the passenger side window. The sun was shining. My husband had just given me a wink and smirk that said, Let’s make love later. My son, niece and the dog were in the back seat miraculously getting along. And I was looking good. Bronze smooth legs. Hair straightened. I was sexy and ready to strut my stuff on the white sand.
I opened my magazine to kill the thirty or so minutes it would take us to get to the salty water. I took a sip of my raspberry iced tea. Everything was perfect; until The Urge made my nose tickle.
I frantically put the magazine down as the words began to run together, looking like random letters dumped from a Scrabble bag. I closed my eyes and held my breath, hoping to find focus and push The Urge out of my body. As I slowly opened my eyes, The Urge tugged at me. It said, Satisfy me. Take care of me, NOW. Another side of me retorted back, Not now. Not with my husband here. Not with my niece and son here. Not on this perfect day where you are feeling like a queen. A queen and The Urge do NOT mix.
I had my addiction since I was a child. It came from my Dad. He’d never try to hide it and so I didn’t either. As I got older, I realized just how bad my habit was. Not because of frequency but because I’d do it anywhere. Most people, I discovered, would do it in the privacy of their own homes, usually alone. As my naiveté fled, I did everything I could to hide my addiction from others, but sometimes it was impossible.
I turned my head slowly to look at my husband. His eyes were focused on the road. He wouldn’t notice if I handled The Urge. But if he did, the Bay Watch beach babe in me would be gone, in his eyes and in mine. I folded down the mirror. Pretending to look at myself, I got a glimpse at the kids. Both were gazing out the window. My niece looked half asleep.
With my skin itchy and my mind compulsive, I went for it. Full speed ahead. I put my finger up to my right nostril and gave my skin a small scratch. I then dug my finger in my nose, wriggling it side to side. There was nothing in there, but that wasn’t the point. The Urge was satisfied.
I removed my finger and snuck glances at my husband and kids, making sure no one saw anything. Phew, I was still Cindy Crawford. My shoulders relaxed and I picked up my magazine again. A minute later, I heard my niece whispering to my son. Wanting to teach her a lesson, I said, “You know secrets aren’t kind. Tell everyone what you whispered.”
My niece replied, “That you were picking your nose.”
Blood flowed to my cheeks. I felt hot and knew I looked like a bright garden tomato.
I looked at my husband. He pretended he hadn’t heard the conversation, but I knew he did. The glimmer in his hazel eyes and crooked grin gave him away.
I turned back to look at the kids. Both of them were chuckling and covering their mouths. I squinted and puckered my lips… and then burst out laughing. Who needs to be Carmen Electra when you’re a loved, nose-picking mom/auntie/wife?
Dr. Danielle Clark is a Life/Spirituality Teacher & Coach, Intuitive Empath, Business Professor, and Writer who believes life is far too important to be taken seriously. Learn more about her at drdanielleclark.com.