My nose...well, what can I say. It works. It's boasted a few piercings over the years. Oh yeah, it was the bane of my existence when I was a child. I was called "Pig nose" from most of Kindergarten on until high school. I hate my nose. Oh the hate isn't as bad as when I was a teenanger. I suspect if I had the money I would have had a nose job as soon as I turned eighteen. But alas I was poor so I just got used to it. I won't say that I developed a love of my nose because I didn't. I grew used to, I guess...or perhaps resigned is the better word.
When I see pictures, my nose is the first thing I see. And the picture usually gets delted.
I've always figured my nose was something Native, or African-American. I became a tad obessessed with finding out where the hated nose came from. My family is a bit sketchy on the whole family tree. I know that there's a lot of Scottish and some Native American. But my nose didn't really look like any of that ancestory. Yes, I admit it, I observed people. Looked at pictures--trying to find my nose. I think that I thought if I could locate my nose is some kind of history maybe I could come to love it.
H has been telling me that it's a French nose. But there couldn't be French in my family. Could there? Tonight we're watching Paris, Je T'Aime. It's a movie...sort of. It's shorts of different directors filming love and loss in the great city. And there's a short with Juliet Binoche. And holy shit, she has my nose. H has commented on this before...I always thought he was trying to be complimentary. I mean, what woman would not like to be compared with Juliet Binoche? But no, she does indeed have my nose. Maybe not so large but it's still there...the wide nostrils, the slight uplift at the top. So my nose is French. There's something my family isn't telling me...