To Nose or Not to Nose? That is the Question

Burning the midnight match.com oil late one evening (while perusing through emails)…I found myself corresponding with a single, tall, active fellow. The Denverite’s profile sounded promising – but his pictures – a bit blurry and distorted. Hmmm. Trying not to be TOO alarmed (or critical), my eyes strained as I noticed his hot, attractive body coupled with what appeared to be – OH NO – a disproportionate nose. Staring at my computer monitor a full 5 minutes, I had a decision to make – “chance it,” – or “pass” – and leave the possibility of meeting the big-nosed “man of my dreams” to the next blonde. I chose the former.

During the obligatory “weed-out” phone call, Mr. Nose divulged to me he was an FBI agent. Impressed, I hoped his big nose did not equate to a big ego. I remained open minded and we agreed to meet at a bar in Commons Park. Giving myself a pep talk I reasoned, “A nose is just a nose, right? It doesn’t make us or break us. And maybe those pictures were taken at a weird angle by a REALLY BAD photographer?!”

Date night arrived. I sauntered into the bar, and scanned the crowd, figuring he would be easy to spot. And as I turned my head, checking out the other “first daters,” I found myself eye to eye AND nose to nose with “FBI Guy.”

For the next two hours, he entertained me with details of bank robberies, drug busts, and search warrants. I, however, couldn’t focus on anything BUT his nose – aching to hear stories about how many times he broke his snozzle. I started an internal dialogue with myself, “To Nose or Not to Nose?” – followed by – “Is THAT thing genetic?” – and rounding it out – “It’s worse than Owen Wilson’s nose!”

As the night progressed – and I emptied my wine glass a few times over, FBI Guy’s nose appeared to be….shrinking. A reverse Pinocchio effect – induced by the alcohol. Maybe there was a way to cope! We agreed to meet again…and I secretly challenged myself to GET PAST THE NOSE.

The next day at work, I spent 3 hours obsessively googling pictures of Owen Wilson’s nose, convincing myself I could overcome this obstacle. After all, Owen Wilson was a mega superstar who dated Jennifer Aniston. If she could get over the “nose,” why couldn’t I? What were her tricks of the trade? I secretly wished I could call her.

As our next date approached, I prayed….”Maybe the nose won’t seem so bad the second time…”

I, my friends, was wrong. As FBI Guy and I sat in the “nosebleed” section of the Pepsi Center, I realized THIS match was not going anywhere. If I heard one more first-hand account of handcuffing a criminal, I would go postal myself on this guy – including his nose.  Plus, I certainly didn’t appreciate him interrogating me over past relationships.

While his nose was not growing, his FBI attitude WAS. And I felt perfectly fine to let this future relationship fizzle.

Tags: owen wilson

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