Yesterday afternoon I went to visit my boyfriend visiting his father in hospital. For the entire twenty minute drive I watched in my rear-view mirror, a man in the car behind mine picking his nose.
I wasn't offended by his actions, nor his lack of discretion, more surprised that he had that much to pick out. And then I realised he too must have just moved house. I spent a good few hours on my nostrils on Friday evening after relocating from Fitzroy to my new city apartment. New that is, for me.
He must have lived in his previous home for years; packing his beloved, yet dusty possessions carefully into a series of scavenged boxes, or else his new place is a fixer-upper and responsible for the soot and moving debris up his nose needing immediate removal.
The other information I gleaned from his actions at the time, was that he must also have been driving an automatic car, one hand on the steering wheel, the other free to plough into his face.
I wouldn't want to be his nose cartilage if he were forced to brake suddenly.
And so I drove on, carefully, and more predictably, until he eventually passed me by.
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