L.A. Stories- My Morning Oysters

When your friends move out to L.A., they'll all brag to you about the weather. "Oh, sure, it's hot," they'll say, condescendingly, "But it's a dry heat!" Smug bastards.
In Florida, we're well aware of the evils of humidity. We've all sweated through our clothes, and melted off a facefull of makeup while waiting to sign in for an audition. Slogging to work through a parking lot paved in what feels like molten butter has it's drawbacks, for sure. However, I would much prefer this easily remedied and anticipated yearly challenge than the side effects of this "dry heat:"
1) You hair loses its shine and falls out.
2) Your pets shed like there's no tomorrow.
3) Your skin is constantly dry. AAAAANNNND, (drum roll please)
4) MORNING OYSTERS.

When we first moved out, we thought that it might be a residual effect from our long journey through the desert. Then, we blamed in on slow acclimation. Now, we just accept it as part of Life in Los Angeles: Morning Oysters.
Allow me to explain.
Every morning, when I wake up, the first thing I have to do is pluck a "thing" from my nose.
It's a large, thin flake- about the size of a nickle and the consistency of a fish scale, and usually gold or green in color. Often, it's got crystalized dried blood mixed in, forming an effect not unlike Tiffany Glass.
This pliable flake is found adhered to my septum each morning, and it's always on the nostril that isn't smooshed against a pillow. It can appear in either nostril, but this phenomenon prefers the delicate ecosystem of the nostril with the highest altitude. It's always there in the mornings. Always. Like the sun. Or the homeless maniac in our parking garage.
Since our apartment has bars on the windows, and deadbolts on the doors, I can't blame any magic mucous fairy for placing this in my body. I have to be making it myself.
Because I must unwittingly spend my subconscious hours crafting something so special, I am reminded of how oysters make pearls. I think if somehow, I forgot for a series of mornings, to remove this little gem, one day I would sneeze and something the equivalent of amber would pop out and land on the hardwood floor with a rattle and thud. There'd even be DNA inside!
It's gross, for sure. The flake makes a clicking, suction noise when I dislodge it from my septum, and it's large enough that I have to DO something about it. It's not like a benign sneeze one can politely ignore- this, I have to place in a kleenex and throw away. (I don't collect them.)

In the early days, when I still had a sense of wonder about morning oysters, I'd wake up, sense the flake's presence, and go to the bathroom to try and see it. It's so substantial in size and mass that when I'd throw it away, I could hear it hitting the trash can liner bag.
There's a line about Hollywood in the song "Long December," by The Counting Crows...
'It's all a lot of oysters, but no pearls.'
Until my little A.M. creations become precious gemstones, I can only agree.
So enjoy your hot wet summer, Florida. You don't know how good your nose has it.