It’s very embarrassing, but no matter how hard I try, I can never put a handle on my sneezes.
That tickly, achy feeling of a sneezing rising in your throat? For me, that is the feeling of unpredictability. I do not know what noise (or detritus) will be forcefully expelled from my nose and mouth. I do not sneeze. Sneezes expel themselves from my weak and submissive body.
This would all be OK if I were male. Unfortunately, ladies are supposed to sneeze like small dogs. Daintily, unobtrusively and without requiring a wad of tissues. If you’re a man, you can sneeze however which way you like. You may trumpet, snort, honk, or holler. I have a friend who brings a lecture hall to a grinding halt every time he sneezes. But hey, it’s OK. Because he’s not a lady.
I blame it on genes. My dad’s sneezes involve falling backwards onto a couch or bed and kicking his legs up into the air (sorry Dad, I hope you don’t read my blog). I guess I’ll never be a lady, and I’ll always have to carry a pile of tissues around in my handbag to shield unsuspecting coffee dates/fellow train passengers/preoccupied pedestrians from my circle of destruction.
I apologise in advance.