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My nose itched from the inside like feathers to toes in the morning.

I longed to plunge my finger deep into its recess like the proverbial "drilling for oil."

Alas, there I sat at my desk, with a co-worker behind me, watching me type as fast as I humanly could, nary making an error.

It was hard work, no, it was near impossible. How does one concentrate and attempt to think, when the nerves in my nostrils broadcast their urgency? It is a feat beyond human comprehension, save that I was somehow able to pull it off.

Images of being alone with a roll of toilet paper in stall number four kept distracting my train of thought at the task at hand, which unfortunately, wasn't the desperate act of picking. I tried to tame the madness by brushing the underneath part of my nose, on the outside, with the back of my hand.

That only angered it more, and the itching sensation, which could one be described as pulsing, became a hell bent mad throb of an itch. I could see it in my minds eye like a red strobe light, complete with a siren that kept blaring "Pick me. Pick meeee."

And then, a breakthrough! I was able to dismiss my co-worker with a wave and flourish keystroke of the "Enter" key. Excused myself and made a mad dash to the safety confines of the male washroom.

I felt like a dope fiend finally scoring a fix. I will spare you the details of the act, as a cocaine user will gloss over the spoon and the syringe. But let me assure you, I gave it all I got, with the help of toilet paper twisted into the shape of thieve tools, able to unlock the misery that is my itchy nose.

I am well now, having washed, scrubbed and rinsed my guilty hand; all traces of its criminal act abolished. Yet, that a man who had such a need and was satisfied, having hurt no one in the process -- I ask you, "Is that so wrong?"

I think not.

....Truly, satisfaction is in the picking, no the telling. posted by losir at 5:39 PM