On the lighter side of the Nonahood, this is a column about the humorous realities of life in Central Florida. We must choose to laugh and sweat rather than cry and sweat.

I think I’ve figured out why we live in a marsh. It all goes back to allergies. I realize there’s liquid everywhere around here – in the air, in my backyard, in little springs, under my arms. But one of the most prominent sources of liquid is my nose. Could I find the answer right in front of me?

This time of year, otherwise known as all year, people come to work with itchy eyes, itchy noses, unending wheezes, coughs, sniffles, and snorting schnozes. I’ve seen folks with puffed-up eyes and bloody noses who should be in the movie Rocky yelling “Adrian, Adrian.” Instead, they’re wandering our work area looking for something to stop them from becoming a human sprinkler. And I’m the worst.

In high school, my mother took me to see an allergy specialist. There I was, pricked by a needle all up and down my arm. Then the doc told me that if any of his vicious jabs turned into itchy bumps, he’d know what I was allergic to. Sadist. It turned out that I was allergic to dust (who isn’t?), mold, and the pollen of everything. My arm looked like a manatee.

So when I grew up and moved to Florida, I was surprised that while everyone was stumbling around in a snot fest, I could breathe freely. I was like a Claritin commercial. And I was proud. Sadly, I didn’t know there’s a six-month grace period that happens whenever you move to a new place. Your immune system has yet to realize that there’s all this ridiculous stuff in the air that wants to kill you. So, it has not yet turned on you and turned your nose into a faucet.

Now, if I even look outside in a funny way, I sneeze. Just two days ago, I spent the entire day either sneezing or feeling like I needed to. Being unable to sneeze when you need to is horrible. But what’s even more horrible is sneezing in front of your middle-school daughter, snot goop dangling to your kneecaps. Actually, I’m an adult, and I can handle whatever she flings at me – “gross,” “disgusting,” “Dad, you’re a terrible, miserable human being” – that sort of thing. Because I’ve faced worse: high school.

In math class, I was sniffing uncontrollably like usual. I’m a sniffer and not a blower because, as I’ve been forced to explain my entire life, my nose simply won’t blow clear. Wherever the snot is coming from, it is an unending internal spring. I’ve tested this by leaning over the side of my bed to let it drip. It’s not long before I’ve filled a cup, some water balloons, and a kiddy pool.

So back in class, I walked to the front to sharpen my pencil. I wasn’t expecting to wait up there as someone turned the pencil sharpening crank (I belie my age) like a sloth discovering a fun new branch. As I stood, I felt the sneeze coming, and I didn’t have my tissue. If I’d had it, I’d have tried to cover my blow holes and hope nothing came out my ears. Should I sprint for my desk, I thought, or hope my Heavenly Father takes me home now? Being a particularly spiritual youngster, I opted for the latter. Bad choice. I sneezed, and no exaggeration, a huge, sticky, rubbery stretch of snot almost hit the floor. Terrified, I did the only thing I knew to do. I sniffed. As the snot hit my face, I knew high school was over.

But what doesn’t kill us often makes us strongly want to die. Trees, grass, dust, plants, mold, animals, and food of all kinds are all out to get me. And to top it off, I worry about sniffing up gnats or, worse, lovebugs. My nose is itching just typing this.

So how do I survive? I’ve tried nostril corking. When I’ve had it with sniffling my way through a day like a bloodhound on the trail of something super gross, I roll up whatever tissue I have and plug my nose.

“Phil, are you ok? You should probably go home.”

“I’m-b fine. Thee, nothe plugth! They’re the betht.”    

All this writing about snot makes me wonder if I’m going to get fired from this column. Or at least a talking-to about what humor is and what humor isn’t family friendly. It’s-not that bad though, is it? See, 5-year-olds love that joke. At least I haven’t used the word mucus. Yuck.

Okay, so, to the mysterious reference I made at the beginning about why I think we live in a marshy environment. Isn’t it obvious?! Our unending founts of snot feed the creeks that feed the rivers that feed the marshes that feed the plants, trees, and animals that tickle our noses into giving them yet more snot. We’re all just part of the great allergic circle of life. The sooner we sneeze, the sooner we’ll feel better so that the rest of life can get on with making us feel worse again.

Thorry about thith. But it’th true, or at leatht mothtly tho.  

Philip writes for Cru, a nonprofit organization located on Moss Park Road, close enough to the 7-Eleven off of Narcoossee to justify ditching work for a Slurpee. While he thinks he’s funny, he wisely never verbalizes his musings to his two ever-increasingly hostile pre-teens. His brain doesn’t seem to do the heavy lifting in the writing process – his sweaty fingers do. So, if you laugh, snort, chortle or guffaw, they deserve the credit … both of them.