I’m not a vain person, but I do prefer to walk around town without drifters hanging out of my nose or having parsley and cottage cheese (or any other noticeable food items) in my teeth.
I also prefer that my zipper stay up (which is why I sewed many of my zippers closed the other day), my hair not be cowlicked, and that my clothing not be stained. The latter two are difficult for me because even with a good ‘blow-out’ my cowlick tends to return and stains, well, a day doesn’t go by that I don’t spill or splooge something on me.
In high school I had a friend with whom I would conduct drifters checks. She would check my nostrils for low-hanging fruit and, conversely, I would check hers.
This evening, I powdered my nose, applied my lipstick, took a quick look in my non-lit car visor mirror and headed into a business dinner with various coworkers and community partners. I had been there for about twenty minutes, spoken with at least 10-15 individuals, when a coworker of many years suggested I wipe my nose. “Do I have a drifter?” I asked as I quickly brushed the end of my nose. “You did,” he said. “Why didn’t anyone else tell me?” I asked, rhetorically. “The don’t have the same relationship we do,” he said.
That’s probably true, but shouldn’t we all have that relationship? Where is my high school friend when I need her most? Truly, who wants to go home, after spending hours at a dinner party, only to realize they’ve got a drifter and only to wonder, ‘Was that with me all night?’ The only person I know who would be alright with this is my cousin. He used to purposely shoot a drifter out of his nose while talking with people and then, nonchalantly, breathe it back in – all to get a rise out of people. Besides him, the only people who might be ok with drifters are, well, drifters.