On my broken nose

When I broke my nose for the upteenth time, Kaiser wanted to fix it—make it pretty. The surgeon described how he'd sculpt it into a perfect WASP nose and he'd take the little ball off the tip too. Not pretty. I RAN from the hospital. Over my dead body. My deviated septum & I.

My only regret is that it is hard for me to breathe thru my nose—if the doctor hadn't arrogantly suggested that he could give me a perfect little pert pointy nose—I might have done it. I was ABSOLUTELY outraged. 

My poor nose has met so many mishaps. Horse rearing up, a coke bottle, a football tackle, the back of Sue William's head when the toboggan hit a pocket and stopped dead. The cable core rope swing at Devil's Gulch...

Then there was the round galvanized tin chicken feeder with scalloped edges stored up high on a closet shelf that sliced off the side of my nose. You can hardly tell now. Oh, the blood! The blood!