Monday, October 02, 2006
There's Gold in Them Thar Hills
On my way back from Surf Fest XII this past Sunday morning, somewhere just north of Oceanside, I saw a girl picking her nose. Okay, sounds innocent enough, but let's dissect this a bit.
I was in the second lane from the right side of the highway, and she was in the lane just to my left. Her car and my car seemed to be going about the same rate of speed, with my hood about even with her front seat car doors. As I glanced over to look into the car, I see this young, pretty blonde with her right index finger in her left nostril. Since I was behind her a bit, I didn't need to pretend that I didn't see it. I just kept staring. We all have our little picks, our pretend "scratches" that when we feel we have the green light become quick (read: no more than .8 seconds) probes for lodged irratations of dried mucus. But this was different. She just kept going. Going like those old men who just don't give a damn. In fact, upon looking more closely, I realized that she was up to her second knuckle. Second knuckle!! Ponder that.
But now I feel bad. Maybe she wasn't picking her nose at all. Maybe her contact lens slipped back behind her eyeball and she was merely retrieving it through her nasal cavity? Or maybe she'd detached her retinal nerve the night before while engaging the pit of Red Square in TJ during "Surfin' Bird," and was just now attempting to reattach it? The point is, it's none of my business why she's going 75 m.p.h. on the northbound lane of Interstate 5, just outside of Camp Pendleton with one of her fingers so far up her nose it appears she's scraching her Occipital Lobe. None of my business whatsover.