A Wife Up My Nose
Jamie Rosen

I found my wife in my right nostril when I went to shave in the morning. She was huddled there, clutching my nose hairs for dear life.

“I recommend you see a psychiatrist,” my doctor told me. “Not because I think you’re crazy, but because this sort of thing can be very traumatic for everyone.”

At the psychiatrist's office, my wife would not emerge from my sinuses. She was too scared, or so it seemed to me. We were not speaking at that point.

“When did you first notice your wife up your nose?” the psychiatrist asked.

“This morning.”

“May I see her?”

“If she ever comes out again.”

The psychiatrist made a note. “Ah, yes, I noticed that your sinuses were swollen. I was just going to suggest a doctor.”

“It’s not just that,” I said, feeling a sneeze coming on. “I can’t find our dog.”

Jamie Rosen has been a proofreader, a sales clerk in both a bakery and a book store, and a market researcher. Now he works in the insurance industry while trying to conquer his paralyzing fear of word processors. He has published over two dozen short stories since the new millenium, one of which received an honorable mention in The Year’s Best Fantasy & Horror. Rarely, if ever, has he been mistaken for a woman.