Hey! Hey, you, special, covert government task forces! Looking for new methods of torture? I’ve got one that’s surefire.

I’m not one to complain. If you ask anyone but my husband, I am NOT one to complain. But here I am. Complaining. If there were any way to take my nose and all the remnants therein, gut my sinuses and fill them with clean, breathable air instead of the muck and sludge currently residing, I would be a happy camper. I would be more than a happy camper. When they ask the question “What would you do for a Klondike bar?”, I want them to change it to “What would you do for clear, uninfected sinuses?” I know it’s not as pretty as the other one and, no, you can’t sing it in a jingle. But you know what I’d do? Run my plump, naked keister out in the middle of rush hour traffic, that’s what I’d do.

Instead, there will be no naked keister. I know. Disappointing. And I have to say I’m awfully leery of showing my keister to anyone these two kids later-days. But right now I am at the point where I would like to have a personal talk with God and, not ask Him the meaning of life. No. That would be too simple. Too cliched. I just want to know one thing. ONE. Why? Why must you punish my sinuses so? Because, next to child birth, I don’t know anything more painful right now. This elephant sitting on my face is not cool. These sacks of sand under my eyes? Not cool. The pounding in my brow line? We’re in the Sahara of not cool, Jesus.

Oh, yeah, and if I could package what’s coming out of my nose and send it to you air express, I so totally would.