William’s answer to the age-old question: “So…How was your day at School?”

We’re seated at the kitchen table after a long day for both of us. He’s just gotten home from the gym and I’m trying to tidy the kitchen so I can cook in it after a long day of library work. When he sits, I sit, dutifully communicating that I do want to hear about his day. He has both hands and both eyes on his cell phone, though, so he’s happy to “talk” so long as I don’t cause him to miss a shot or drive off the road. He reflects for a moment, tells me he has homework in math class, tells me about the sub in Science class, answers my questions about the outline due in language arts–little stuff, randomly offered, mixed in with narrative. William has always been a willing narrator. But he’s not looking at me and I’m not looking at him. I’m starting to tune out, actually, notice the pile of unread mail, think through my re-heats for dinner, the half-here half-there mom. I think he’s done telling. But then, just as flat and monotone as the rest of it:

“Well, I did get two metal balls out of my head today.”

I was just stopping to listen, what with the night ahead of me and his obvious lack of focus or interest in our conversation. But I’m listening now. Did he just say “two metal balls” –out of his head??

Still looking down, still dinking on his phone: “Yeah… well, you know those little magnets you got me…?”

They are (were) tiny little magnets, size of a large pin head. Where the lot of them went who can say (dog stomach?? No, don’t say that). But the last four of the little made-in-china absolute Ebay schlock were apparently being worn as a mock NOSE PIERCING by boy, in school, last week. He put one on the outside of nostril, one (yes) on the inside, realized they stuck and hey, instant nose piercing. So cool – “Hey! Guys! Look at this!” And off he goes to class. Apparently he got the brainy idea to pierce BOTH nostrils on Friday, so then weren’t we glamorous now. Unfortunately for Fabio, however, when he went to remove the little beads from the inside of his nose, they didn’t come out. They weren’t there. They fell out. Or something. With the cumulative attention span of say, a squirrel, the little magnetic balls were forgotten and the two remaining were tucked in a pocket and off he went.

Until today. When they were relocated in the bottom of his pocket, and nose ring boy decided to try it again. He is telling me all this in the most deadpan of voices, like we were discussing the language arts outline he doesn’t want to write. Same tone and demeanor he used telling me the story of how his front tooth broke completely in half last year walking back from lunch. “Yeah, I went to put in my nose piercing, but it was so weird. The little ball on the inside just shot UP my nose. On the inside… like shot up in in my brain or something. I thought, hey, that’s not supposed to happen.”

I’M STARING AT HIM. Full attention. Dinner? What dinner? Mail schmail. I think he is telling me that there are—or were—foreign objects lodged in his head. This was LAST Friday he went in for stud jewelry. IT’S BEEN ALMOST A WEEK!! I am brought to mind all those articles and internet warnings about magnets and body cavities. But he’s still talking …

“So then I tried it on the other side and the same thing happened. So then I was like, whoa….”

Imagine asking for a bathroom pass with THAT on your mind. “Umm, ahh, Mrs. McNutty??” Sure enough, off he goes to the boys’ restroom during science class to blow his nose like it really probably hasn’t been blown before (as in, ever. In his lifetime), and sure enough, out pop two little metal balls, right from the sinus cavity they’ve been inhabiting for a week. I guess he got the one out and then really had to blow, sneeze and snort the other one out.

“Yeah, it was cool. Kind-a weird feeling, though.”

I’ll bet. The horror of what could have happened is being overtaken by the hilarious picture of a twelve-year-old boy occupying perfectly good class time to sport shiny metal studs in his nose, the insanity of the mishap (like, could I make this stuff up?? I think not) and the flat-out monotone telling of the tale. It is too much. I am openly weeping in disbelief.

“So William,” I ask, pulling it together, “That’s a wild story, son. What did you do with the little magnet balls after that?”

“Oh,” says boy with a shrug, “I threw them away. Geeze mom, that’s gross.”