The Day My Nose Declared Independence

Oh, I’ve got one that still makes my husband wheeze-laugh every time we pack for a holiday.

A few summers ago, we went to the south of France. I’d bought this fancy new sunhat — big brim, very chic, very “I read French novels on vineyard patios.” On day two, we rented bikes to ride along the coast. I was feeling incredibly glamorous… until a sudden gust of wind launched my hat straight into the air like a frisbee.

I screamed. Not a cute “oops,” but a full-on banshee shriek. My husband slammed on his brakes, I swerved, and we both ended up tangled in a bush next to a very confused elderly couple eating baguettes.

But here’s the kicker: I chased the hat down the path, finally caught it… only to realise I’d been riding without sunscreen on my nose for two hours. By the time we got back to the hotel, my nose was lobster red, and the breeze kept blowing loose hat hair into my face.

That night, we went to a nice seafood place. The waiter took one look at my glowing red nose and asked, very seriously, “Madame… is your nose supposed to be that colour?”

My husband, without missing a beat: “It’s a family heirloom. We’re very proud of it.”

Pro tip: If your nose begins emitting its own bioluminescent glow during dinner service, you have officially crossed into ‘Rudolph’s angry cousin’ territory.

Now I own exactly three things: a sunhat with a chin strap, a bottle of SPF 50, and a deep-seated fear of coastal bike paths.

(My students love this story because they say my nose sounds like Rudolph’s angry cousin. Accurate.)