OUT, DAMNED SPOT HAIR

This morning, as I stood ’fore the bathroom mirror,
I saw a sight to make my bowels quiver,
My chest palpitate, and my knees grow weak:
A Nose-Hair, protruding from my ample beak!

Only one thing to do, I thought - by Jesus,
I was going to have to get out the Tweezus.
To leave that hair there would be as much of a sin
As to dine with the Queen and get egg on my chin.

Now, I hate tweezing nose-hairs. It hurts, pure and simple.
It’s way much more painful than squeezing a pimple.
But I grabbed that damned hair - yanked it out of my face -
A-leaving a droplet of blood in its place.

And O, how I screamed as that bright bolt of pain
Shot up that short passage, direct to my brain!
I cursed, and I moaned, and I groaned all aloud,
And said things of which I’ll confess I’m not proud.

It’s been said by the Sages that Life Just Ain’t Fair.
I’ll agree, on account of that Vile Nasal Hair.