It’s so easy to tell other people to be confident in their own skin and to embrace their flaws.

Actually living in that skin and having said flaws are a different story.

I’ve mentioned here before that my nose is as crooked as a lightening bolt. It’s because I sucked my thumb until I was a teenager (possible a little longer than that, if I’m being completely honest), and while doing so, I would hook my index finger over my nose. This caused my buck teeth that were corrected with braces, and my permanently jacked up nose.

For whatever reason, my crooked nose never really bothered me. Not even when my little cousin stood in front of me and asked, Why does your nose go like this?” while pointing his finger through the air in a zig zag motion.

But jusssst when you think you’ve come to terms with your “unique” nose, your very own child comes along and shatters your mental vanity mirror.

This entire situation could have been avoided if my husband didn’t have to tell us about every Uber fact he’s ever read.

It was bedtime last night. I just finished saying our prayers with my sons, when PJ comes sauntering in the room to inform us that if you can’t stand on one foot for 10 seconds, there’s something wrong with your neurological health.

Hmm, thanks a lot jackass. I’m utterly exhausted and was in the home stretch of saying good night, more than ready to jump in bed, and drift off to la la land. Now, of course, we all need to prove to you that there’s nothing wrong with our neurological health.

Always up for a challenge, in my fuzzy leopard slippers, I was up to the count of 9 when I hear one of my sons say, “Your nose is like Pinocchios”.

Before giving PJ a, “HA! In your face! I’m not neurologically imbalanced look!” I turned to my son and said, “What?” Laughing, he says, “Your nose looks like Pinocchio.”

I couldn’t hold back the sadness. After seeing my face, he apologized immediately. I felt bad, because I knew he immediately regretted it – and he’s not usually a mean kid – but sometimes raising decent human beings, means allowing them to understand that their words matter and they are to be used carefully.

He kept apologizing, and I kept saying it was ok, but he wasn’t satisfied. Finally I said, “What do you want me to say?!”

He replied, “I don’t know, I just feel really bad!”

I replied, “Well next time don’t say something so mean!”

For whatever reason, this appeased him and he went to bed.

Of course I whined to PJ about my Carl Maulden nose for about 5 minutes, but he was barely listening because he was doing an online grocery order.

His answer to my hinting pleas for him to tell me I’m beautiful was, “I love your nose. Do we need more cantaloupe?”

I knew I would never get the truth out of him – that he agrees with our son, that my profile is that of a lying wooden boy, so I flipped over and tried to go to sleep.

“Do we need more strawberries?”

“STOP ASKING ME ABOUT GROCERIES RIGHT NOW!”

I was extremely tired and it’s extremely inappropriate to wait alllll day and then ask your wife to use her mind to think of the food we’re running out of as she’s trying to go to sleep.

I wouldn’t normally be so harsh and yell at him about it, but my mind was already drowning in the fact that I look like an aardvark from the side.

PJ clammed up and I tried to go to sleep.

I didn’t sleep. I’m so fucking vain that instead, I grabbed my phone and googled “women with big noses” because I wanted to see if I compared to anyone that I thought was really pretty but had a honker like mine.

I fell down a rabbit hole of rhinoplasty.

I’m scheduling my appointment today.

I plan to have 3/4 of it lopped off so you won’t even recognize me the next time you see me ala Jennifer Grey.

Just kidding. I’ve spent 45 years with this shnoz, I guess I’ll keep it.

But wouldn’t it be a karmic kick in the ass if my son inherited my nose? 😏