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A sneeze:

For as long as I can remember my dad has sneezed in the most spectacular fashion imaginable. I don’t mean in a messy, liquid way but in a loud, flailing, force of nature way. His sneezes are explosive and never alone; always at least five times in a row. He uses a handkerchief without fail, which some might think gross and old-fashioned. But he always has a fresh white piece of fabric to accompany his performance. 

In complete contrast to this I would sneeze silently. I would grasp my nostrils and trap the air in there. It would invariably escape with a small squeak, in a deliberate departure from my dad. I didn’t want my sneezes to be noticed so I tried to stifle them. Until I read how dangerous this is for you. So I resolved to always carry a few tissues (no handkerchiefs) and let the sneezes fall where they may. However I also carry a mirror to make sure there is no evidence of the sneeze ever happening.

Next week: The meanest thing anyone has ever said to you.

This is the latest exercise in my 642 Things to Write About Project. Click on the link to find out more, or click on the category 642 Things to Write About Project to read past exercises.  🙂