Sneezing

I don’t give polite, excuse me little sneezes. My sneezes involve a lot of noise. Initially, there are a string of little in breaths, the opposite of those outward pants that women on TV give in an effort to give birth – but no less significant of the fact that something big is coming.

They are like the foreshocks before a large earthquake. They almost act as a warning, the ah, ah, ahs before the longed for choo – when in Tipperary the dogs run for cover and start whimpering in the corners – human acquaintances don’t do that as they know they haven’t enough time.

It can be odd in that moment, people looking at you, a look of apprehension on their faces. And sometimes, with a particularly tough one to blow, there is that moment of will she or won’t she; and for a few seconds no one in the room is breathing, I feel every muscle in my body tighten, as we are all caught in suspension, waiting.

Then it comes. Loud and explosive. An excuse me, almost as loud as the sneeze, is projected across the room, the sneeze the wind beneath its wings. There is relief. And not unlike the mother, the gestation and labour is forgotten, people begin to laugh and talk once more.

Sneezing, like most things in our modern world, requires much accesorising, especially if like me you suffer from sinitus and hay fever. There are the nasal sprays, the anti-histamines, the decongestants, and the endless boxes and packets of hankies that always run out, then you're left with whatever damp scraps you can find in your pocket or up your sleeves. And the runny nose. I've no doubt the slimey green ghost - Slimer - in the ghost busters was created by a person who suffered from sinitus. The gooey way he moved from one place to another, almost pulling his globby-self  after himself, is reminiscent of snot attached to the hanky yet resistant to leave the nose.

On the plus side, as a regular sneezer, I can get a modicum of sympathy from some people, lifes kinder souls. They think you're sick and sympathise. On the downside, there are others that avoid a sneezer - they think that by being around you they could catch a cold. These are the same people that think it can't be that serious if you are up and well - they see sniveling and snorting as merely looking for compassion and almost as a matter of principle they are not going to give it. At least if it was a cold I had, and not sinutus, and those people were to catch it, they would understand fully exactly how unpleasant it is and be sympathetic. Don't you think?