Why do some people sneeze big and others sneeze small? I once had a friend who sneezed it to the world. He actually said “ACHOO” when he sneezed, like the onomatopoeia had been developed based solely on his advice. He sounded like the Wilhelm scream.
I also had a cousin whose sneeze was little more than a sneer and a shrug. Her sneezes (and her hiccups, but that’s another useless post) were squeaks. I always wondered if they were at all effective – like the control center in her body (a la Woody Allen) noticed there happened to be the smallest hint of dust on the edge of her nostril, and really all that was needed was a slight exhale of breath to clear her airways.
I’m a big sneezer. I’m not like Goofy back in paragraph one, but I do command a presence. I was on my way into work this morning when I felt a particularly intense sneeze coming on, so I grabbed at a Wendy’s napkin leftover from a frosty run.
Time speeds up for me when I have to sneeze. Seriously. Einstein studied it in terms of relativity – time goes faster the closer a tissue is to me. In the present case, the napkins were in the dashboard tray (so only a few feet from my honker, causing time to travel the Audubon). I would have made it, except that, unbeknownst to me, aforementioned frosty left some frosty residue on aforementioned napkins, so grabbing for one resulted in a half dozen yellow napkins trailing the one destined for my schnoz.
So, to sum up, I’m a few tiny seconds away from breaking my windshield with an atomic sneeze, I’m doing that clown trick where one handkerchief is tied to a bunch of others, they’re consequently flying all over my tracker because the window is open, and there I am wondering how to spell Wilhelm because I know this will inevitably become a blog post.
Also, that How Bizarre song was on the radio and it’s still going through my mind. Damned Buffalo radio stations.
1 year ago