The thing you should know about baby carrots is that they go up your nose a lot easier than they go back down your nose.

After I told the nurse what had happened, she said, “What face-hole are you supposed to put your food into, Mr. Dooda?”

“My mouth,” I said glumly.

Actually, I said, “By bowth,” because another thing you should know is that you sound funny with baby carrots up your nose.

“Correct, Mr. Dooda.” She said it just like I was about three and a half years old. “From now on let’s put the right things in the right face-holes, okay?”

Then she muttered something about counting down the days until her trip to Bermuda.

She tried to get me to blow the carrots out of my nose, but those little suckers were wedged in there tight. After that, she tried to get them out with tweezers. No luck.

In the end, she called my mom and told her she had to take me to the doctor.

Mom was even less happy to see me than the nurse was. When I asked her if we were going to the doctor, she said she wasn’t going to wait in an emergency room for the next six hours. She said she was going to take matters into her own hands.

“Maybe we can just leave the carrots where they are,” I suggested nervously.

“Those carrots are coming out of that nose one way or another, buster,” she said.

I didn’t like the sound of that.