|Poor Guy. Rest In Peace.|
Three moles are climbing on a ladder. The first one says, "Mmmm. Mmmm. Do you smell that? I think it's chocolate chip cookies." The second mole following on the rungs replies, 'No. No. That isn't chocolate chip cookies. I think it is oatmeal raisin." The third mole trailing at the bottom trying to keep up, sniffs the air and states, "You two are fools. All I can smell are molasses."
Ba dum dum, ch'.
The sakanna hana story (it means fish nose in Japanese) is from when I taught in Kentucky, and I did a Fulbright Memorial Scholarship in Tokyo. I used to have a large mole on the left side of my nose - a genetic marking that made me totally Crandall. I think friends used to tease that my family could be lined up and we were like one of those flip books where the mole would move around faces, if all of us were lined up and your ran by us quickly. Bad joke. I know.
Well, my mole began bleeding and it wouldn't stop. I'm not typically too self conscious of my looks (I type, lying to myself), but the mole was always a particular source of frustration. I was on a date with a woman named Erin who told me, "You have fish on your nose." We were at a fish fry, so I wiped my nose. She then said, "No. it's still there." I wiped again. Coquettishly she said, "Here, I'll get it." And she proceeded to reach across the table and grab my mole. "Ooh, that's attached," she said.
I'm not married for a reason.
I went to a dermatologist who insisted I have the mole frozen off, which I did. This is before Henry and Hank, skin tags famous in my world. Once frozen, my nose blistered into a gigantic blood glob and I had to wear bandages for weeks. My students in Kentucky were extremely curious of the gauzed bulge on my nose and begged to see it. "No, I insisted. Go back to work." Kids are so weird.
Then Mason Cox arrived to my room on National Chemistry Mole Day with his teacher and classmates and said, "We're here to see your mole. We have to see it. It's a chemistry must." Ms. Mary Todd, his teacher, totally agreed.
So, without thinking I unravelled my bandage to let them see. Oohs, and Aahs followed as I I was a fireworks display. "Can I touch it?" Mason asked. "I don't know," I replied. I couldn't see what they were seeing.
And before I could stop Mason he reached out and simply touched the hemoglobin on my nostril. All I remember is screaming and some vulgarity that followed. The entire thing exploded upon 26 juniors in high school and all of them began wiping their glasses, cheeks, and shirts. "Oops," Mason said.
You can't make that up. We were all disgusted.
I haven't thought about that story in years.
Ah, but yesterday I went to the basement to get a box to transport items to school, when I saw a dead mole. My guess is that there's been moles out front of my home because there's this Whack-a-Mole pattern all over my front lawn. I've not pestered them, but knew I had them locally in Connecticut. I'm not used to seeing them indoors, however, and right below my last basement step was this little guy who was probably looking for more dirt to stick his own nose in. Poor fellow died on basement cement, but how he sniffed his way through walls is beyond me. I have yet to figure that out.
Anyway, I knew I had a post for Friday inspired by the critter and I write this it in hopes it cheers you up, no matter what mood you're in. I know that I'm in need of such story - this week has not been as pleasurable as they should be (debates, anyone?).
I'm off to New Milford now. Where the heck is New Milford? I have no idea, but I'm thinking about my only two mole stories (well, I have more) and heading out the door.