Mind Your Mucus: The No-Nose of Public Hygiene

We’ve all been there—sitting next to someone who thinks the world is their personal spittoon or playground for unsightly habits. My first memories of such charming behavior involve my grandfather. I loved to sit on the ledge next to Grama’s chair and watch “Jeopardy,” “Wheel of Fortune,” or “Little House on the Prairie” with my dad’s parents.

Grama was the epitome of old-school grace with her scotch on the rocks and Pall Malls, while Pa Pa, with his glass bottle of Coca-Cola and Benson and Hedges, was blissfully unaware of his less-than-charming habits.

(Side note: Pa Pa is pronounced more like “paw paw.”)

Grama was very demure, very mindful, as the TikTok saying goes. Pa Pa, on the other hand, was very self-centered, very unaware.

Even though Pa Pa would rarely speak to me, I loved watching TV with them. It was something we could bond over that didn’t involve Pa Pa’s paying me for good grades.

We would answer the Jeopardy questions, guess at the words on Wheel of Fortune, and comment on Nellie’s superiority on Little House.

Pa Pa would sit there and quite frequently hack up a little something (ugh, I hate thinking about that) and spit on the carpet around him. Bless his heart, he truly believed the living room rug was the perfect landing spot for all things nasal. Grama would rarely say anything to him about cutting out his disgusting practice. He would shut her down and continue. You just give up eventually.

My extended family would go to my grandparents’ house for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Christmas Eve for my dad’s birthday dinner and Christmas Day for a quick opening of gifts and a buffet meal. Friends of my grandparents would show up for the buffet.

No matter who was visiting, Pa Pa still hacked and spat. Oh, and he picked his nose. I’m mean, really?!

My dad would say something. My mom would say something. My aunt would say something. Did he ever listen? Of course, not.

Since my dad worked with Pa Pa, he saw his dad every day. Even when a colleague was in his office, Pa Pa still hacked, horked, honked, picked his nose, and spat. Oh, yes, he would also fart. Quietly but stinkily. You couldn’t take the man anywhere.

It just never bothered him that he looked foolish or that he was setting a ridiculous example for his kids and grandkids.

Mary Lynn and I couldn’t take it. Well, we had to deal with it. He was the king after all.

Mary Lynn raised me quite firmly. I’d get a rather tight squeeze of the arm or knee under a restaurant table when I even thought about “misbehaving.”

“Other people don’t want to hear you scream.” “Someone, somewhere, can always see what you’re doing.”

Mom commented in contempt whenever we witnessed a stranger picking their nose in their car. Likewise, when a man would spit on the sidewalk. (Is there some reason men can’t keep their own saliva in their mouths?!)

Mary Lynn does not believe in touching your face outside of the shower or sink. Not for hygienic reasons, but because it looks gross. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her touch her face, in public or in private.

The woman doesn’t even scratch when she has an itch. I’ve never seen her adjust her bra or pull her panties out from her butt crack. Is this woman even human?!

Her standards are, obviously, quite high.

While the rest of us are frequently touching our faces or adjusting our clothes, she sits still, unencumbered and unbothered.

I tried as long as I could. But I cannot abide panties in my butt. And sometimes ya just gotta scratch that itch! Just be very surreptitious when you're around Mary Lynn!

Nonetheless, nobody wants to see anybody else doing it. Digging around for the edges of the panties, rubbing your eyes, or, God forbid, picking your nose.

Does nobody care how they appear?

We shouldn’t care what most people think of us. My mom certainly does not. But shouldn’t we care about grossing out other people?! Some simply do not.

After years of enduring these delightful family quirks, we decided it was time to do what any self-respecting woman would do—write it all down and hope the world takes notice. Our first move? A little restaurant table card to express our collective dismay: “No hacking, horking, honking, or picking your nose. No fighting or biting. No hissing, pissing, or spitting. And no scratching your butt.”

The card simply wasn’t enough. No one could read it, not even a waiter. We had to get the word out.

And, thus, our first pamphlet was born!