a fly went up my nose

OP Authors 2025

2 min read

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16-03-2025

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The Day a Fly Took a Nosedive (and I Took a Deep Breath)

It started innocently enough. A sunny afternoon, a gentle breeze, the hypnotic buzz of… a fly. I wasn't particularly bothered. Flies are a fact of life, especially in the summer. But then, the unimaginable happened. A fly went up my nose.

I know, I know. It sounds ridiculous. Like a punchline to a bad joke. But trust me, the reality was far less humorous and far more… unsettling.

One moment I was calmly sipping my iced tea, the next, a sudden, violent jolt of panic shot through me. It wasn't pain, exactly, more like a frantic, buzzing terror trapped within the confines of my nasal cavity. The sensation was bizarre, a combination of tickle, pressure, and the distinct feeling of something small and unwelcome flailing about.

My initial reaction was pure instinct: a loud, involuntary snort that achieved nothing more than sending the offending insect further up my nasal passages. Then came the frantic attempts to dislodge it: vigorous sniffing, exaggerated exhales, and a series of increasingly frantic facial contortions that probably looked quite comical to any unsuspecting onlookers.

Let me tell you, trying to breathe normally while a fly is doing the Macarena in your nose is no easy feat. Each inhale brought a wave of panic, each exhale a desperate hope that this miniature airborne intruder would finally surrender and exit stage left (or, more accurately, stage out).

My attempts at self-extraction proving futile, I resorted to more drastic measures. Google became my unlikely confidante, offering a wealth of advice ranging from the sensible (blowing your nose gently) to the frankly terrifying (performing the Heimlich maneuver on yourself – I didn't).

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity (but was probably closer to five minutes), a combination of strategic nose-blowing and strategic head-shaking dislodged the culprit. The relief was palpable, immediate, and profound.

The fly? Let's just say it didn't survive its nasal odyssey. Whether it was the trauma of the experience, the sheer force of my exhalations, or a combination of both, remains a mystery.

So, what did I learn from this bizarre and frankly traumatic event? A few things, actually:

• Flies are surprisingly agile: I underestimated their ability to navigate the complexities of the human nasal passage.
• Panic is rarely helpful: While my initial reaction was understandable, the frantic flailing only made things worse.
• Google isn't always the answer: While the internet is a vast resource, sometimes a calm, rational approach is better than a panicked search for DIY solutions.

And finally, I learned to appreciate the simple pleasures of a fly-free existence. Now, every time I hear that familiar buzz, I find myself taking a slightly deeper breath and casting a cautious glance around. Because, let's face it, once is more than enough.