The Anderson Nose

I've just spent possibly one of the most painful and frustrating hours of my life in a hotel bathroom in Delhi.

I'll let you just digest that for a second, simply for the drama of it.

And yes, I know you're all shocked, but it wasn't spent expelling the contents of my stomach. 'Delhi Belly' has yet to strike, and I'm hoping it stays that way.

Let me explain, in a round-about way.

I can be a little vain, I admit it. I have a tendency to coordinate, almost to the point of excess, and as many of you know, and I tire of my hair colour rapidly. Surviving on the miniscule wardrobe that could squeeze into my backpack has been more than slightly traumatic. Packing for tropical heat in December in Canada didn't really go that well in hindsight, so I've been abandonning articles of clothing across Asia and supplementing the wardrobe with cheap, brightly coloured and more importantly lightweight clothing.

My hair, now completely pony-tailable, is driving me crazy. I haven't seen a hair-dryer in at least a month, and not blessed with natural volume, there's not a lot it does well other than lay limply around my face. And the grey hairs that are regularly banished from my head by the very talented Mr. Tom, are sadly, out in large number, saying hello to the world.

I find I'm tired of looking the same, shallow though that may be. I've surrendered to clashing half the time, and am resigned to it, most of the time. But I've started to look for other options for ornamentaion, simply to shake things up a bit. I've acquired some headscarves to hide the grey hair, which sort of work, though I do question whether my cranium is really ideally shaped to accomodate head-accessories - everything just seems to slip right off. I splurged on some new earrings yesterday, as the only pair I brought broke about a 6 weeks ago. And 3 days ago in a beauty salon in Varkala, a beachside resort in the south of India, I had my nose pierced.

With the number of tattooed and pierced backpackers wandering around I do feel like a bit of cliche, but I've been toying with getting my nose pierced for a couple years. I balked on my 32nd birthday in a piercing studio on Queen Street, as my friend Frankee can attest (she was there to hold my hand.) The reason for the reluctance? Completely shallow of course. They wanted me to keep the ginormous stud in my nose for 6 weeks and I was simply too vain to have something that enormous on my face for so long. I'd always sort of envisioned a very delicate, barely-there sparkly something or other, not the massive piece they were suggesting.

I've been told on several occasions, (yes, by friends who were being supportive) that I have the right kind of nose for a piercing. But what I discovered this morning in my hotel room, is while my nose might be ideal to host a delicate stud, it is not the ideal nose for actual removal of the large stud that was shot into my nostril a few days ago. Because yes, I ended up with the same ginormous stud I'd been trying to avoid. They did it so quickly I didn't really even have time to protest. The only positive news is I only had to sport the monstrosity for 3 days. And I didn't cry, so that was good. I had a vague sort of headache for the first couple of days, but the more annoying thing was actually trying to breath with a large earring back in my left nostril - not really good times, I have to admit.

I've never really spent a great deal of time thinking about the size of my nostrils - other than being appreciative of having not inherited the Anderson nose. On my father, the Anderson nose is well, large, but full of character. While I can't quite imagine him without it, I've always been very happy that it wasn't a feature we shared in common. My non-descript but smaller nose comes from the Moloy side of the family, apparently along with my fat fingers. Let me piece it together for you without getting too graphic. Large earring back in my small left nostril. Fat fingers that spent an hour trying to jam into my nostril and get a good grip to remove the backing. Nostril swollen somewhat from being pierced, and filthy with Indian pollution. (Blowing my nose in the last few days has been a pain I haven't been willing to endure.) I haven't spent this much time with a finger up my nose since I was probably 4 years old. Throughout it all I cursed my tiny nostril and for the first time in 33 years, wished I'd inherited the Anderson nose. After about 45 minutes of struggling I finally dislodged the backing. The whole time I'd worried that I might inhale the backing in all the excitement, but thankfully that was avoided.

I then moved on to step two - inserting the delicate nose ring I'd purchased. What made it tricky however and equally frustrating is that nose rings aren't like earrings with a post and a backing - the decorative bit is on the end of a curled wire that you somehow magically wind into your nostril through the now exposed hole. The problem of course is the the wire is curved in a way that won't actually go easily through the straight hole the post has left. So after numerous painful attempts I straigtened the end of the wire to get it in the hole. The problem then became the fact that I had to keep winding the wire through the hole further to get the decorative bit in position. The straigtened wire was soon scraping the insides of my miniscule Moloy nostril, and I had visions of tunnelling accidentally into my brain, and having a slow drip of brain matter mar the effect I was going for. After struggling for about a half hour the tiny crystal was correctly positioned. My nostril at this point was so swollen I could no longer judge whether the wire on the inside was properly positioned. So I liberally coated all nostril surfaces with Polysporin and collapsed back onto my bed in relief. And it actually does look pretty good on the Moloy nose, if slightly red. (Though not infected Mom, no worries!)

I'll tunnel back in for a re-examination later this afternoon, but I need to space the fun out, you know.