I’ve decided to start a new series (or, in my case–just a series, since I’ve never had a series before) on my blog. I call it “The Nosebleed Chronicles”. If you don’t do well with blood-related stories, you might want to avoid this series. Just a heads up. You can read parts one, two, three, and four here, and here, and here, and here.
But seriously people, this one is really graphic. But also the most hilarious.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
A few months ago, my mom and I were driving to visit my grandma in Provo. We had just dropped my sister off at work (good ole Wally-World), so it was around 2pm on a Saturday. My mom and I were just driving along, playing with the radio, chatting it up, you know, normal car ride events, when BOOM.
Unfortunately for us, we were at that awkward almost halfway mark between my house and my grandma’s house where there’s really not a fast way to get to either place. And, of course, we had taken the scenic back roads through the residential area to get there, so there wasn’t really a good place to pull over either.
Picture this for a second: There I am, sitting in the passenger seat of the car, cupping my nose.
Naturally, I started to panic because: GET THIS.
THERE ARE NO TISSUES IN THE CAR.
None. Zero. Zilch. Nada.
And my father calls himself a boy scout leader. (A title that should perhaps be revoked due to the fact that his car was without tissues.)
I’m making a massive mess EVERYWHERE, and frantically digging through my purse, my mom’s purse, the glove box, and between the seats with my left hand. But, seriously, there are no tissues to be found.
At this point, we decide that we should probably turn back and go to the nearest gas station. As we make this decision, I have a flashback. To this:
Naturally, I find the only feminine napkin we have in the car rip that puppy open, and stuff it into my face. So, now I’m just riding along with a big ol’ pad clapped to my face. True Story.
After what seems like forever but is probably not even 5 minutes we get to a gas station. As we pull in, I’m pretty sure that every. single. person. is staring at me.
My mom leaves me in the car (I look like a zombie ate my face) and runs in to buy tissues. And more staring ensues.
Fun fact: Not all gas stations sell tissues. This one was one of those kinds.
My mom bought toilet paper instead. And baby wipes. Because there were also no Tide-to-Go or Shout Wipes.
Have you ever tried to unroll and tear a roll of toilet paper while clutching a feminine napkin to your face? That, my friends, should be an Olympic sport because it is hard. The Gold-medal kind of hard.
I finally got things under control, but it may have taken me all the way to Provo to get cleaned up. The end.