“You underestimate the power of my facial features.”
I love my husband’s face. It’s unique and has strong features including a larger nose. He claims it as his northern Italian nose, and having always liked big noses, I enjoy it.
My problem lies in the fact that even when my husband is fast asleep, the nose is still awake, talking and causing me problems. I don’t think it’s the size alone, but perhaps there is a nostril circumference/dry air interaction at play or something, causing it to whistle far off lullabies all night long.
To my untrained ear, it sounds like everything BUT a nose whistle. Its output spans the spectrum from the smoothness of a Vienna choirboy to the raspy tone of Stevie Knicks using an inhaler, and this variety of sounds tricks me into thinking it is all sorts of things when I hear it in the night.
If you share a bed with a nose whistler, you may also have been awoken from your slumber to investigate any number of things only to find out that it was your husband’s nose flute all along. Some of my favorite incorrect guesses are:
- My kids faintly calling out from down the hall
- An iPad that my kids must have left on downstairs
- An emergency vehicle siren in the distance
- A feral cat
- A Darth Vader ringtone
- Basement tenant’s late night violin practice
- Restless owls or mating wild animals outside
- A heavy breathing intruder
- Said intruder sliding furniture across the hardwood floors in search of our hidden wall safe (if we had one)
The biggest mystery to me is that the whistle throws its sound all over the house. I sit up in bed, look at him, and actively listen only to come up nose whistle negative as it mysteriously throws its sound into another room and sends me searching.
After my Columbo expedition turns up nothing, I usually return only to discover it was actually the nose whistle all along. The whistle usually continues to mock me as I lie back down to sleep.
I typically drift off pondering my morning revenge when I hear a distant “Mommmmmmeeeeee . . . Mommmmmmeeeeee” at regular intervals. I get up to listen but the hallway is silent. The nose whistle!
As I decide that a swift kick is my only recourse I realize something. It is MY freaking nose. My tiny button-like nose has turned on me and joined in the never-ending nighttime symphony. The whistle is contagious!
I get up and Google only to come up with excessive nose picking, syphilis and cocaine abuse being among the reasons for a persistent nose whistle. Seriously??? I certainly can’t seek help now and risk being judged.
I lie back down determined to keep my nose whistle in check. As I drift off I hear the furniture-moving intruder back at work downstairs. I’m not sure whose nose it is and ignore it, content in my acceptance of our stash of jewels and fur being gone in the morning.