"I kept my nose to spite my face."-- Barbra Striesand

There was a national commercial for nasal spray a while back that summed up perfectly the way that I feel about my nose. In the ad, this guy gets up from bed with a nasty cold. He pads into the bathroom in his cute little striped pajamas and looks at hims elf in the mirror. And there it is staring back at him: HIS ENTIRE HEAD IS A GIANT NOSE.

Of course things end happily for the fellow in the ad. Turns out all he needs are a couple of squirts of super-duper nasal spray and his head magically morphs back into TV-handsome-guy and we presume he goes on about his TV-handsome-guy life.

Some of us are stuck with the nose.

There is nothing feminine or sexy about a large nose. No rapturous love songs get written about the lowly proboscis. A big fucking honker makes photos taken by well meaning but unskilled family members a nightmare not soon forgotten.

Now in reality, or so I'm told, my nose is not that big. I wouldn't know. I lost all perspective on it years ago at the age of fourteen. The guy who sat next to me in Social Studies, Randy (bastard), stared at my profile one day and exclaimed "Dam n, girl. You got a big nose."

I've been damaged goods ever since. Not that I didn't already have my suspicions about my nose, but I don't think I really needed to have it put to me so bluntly. I mean, isn't there a law by now that you don't say shit like that to a fourteen year old girl? Aren't their egos getting fucked with enough?

Okay, I'm not fourteen anymore, and we've reached a grudging truce (my nose and I). I've even gone so far as to try and give my, *ahem* prominent, nose credit for the fact that people have always tended to take me seriously. I've never been cursed with the "pretty girl" syndrome of being handed things and opportunities on a silver platter because I was so gorgeous. Damn it, I like my nose! I may not look like a supermodel, but I'm pretty anyway. Sometimes even people who don't love me tell me so! I like my nose! It's part of me. I like it, I tell you!

Hahaha. Don't you believe it for a second. If I had the money, I'd race out to the plastic surgeon lickety-split and have it "fixed". My feminist friends would deride me and call me a hypocrite, and I'd say "I know, I've sinned," and I'd do pennance. But at least I wouldn't have the damn nose.

And then I wonder... Should I do it? Should I save up and buy myself a new nose? Will it make me happy? Or will I just find another convenient outlet for my self-hatred? Cuz, you know, my hair ain't so great either...