I cut it off.
Pulling it straight with tweezers and hacking it off with a pair of baby nail scissors.
This from a girl who can't even pop a zit. Who starts hyperventilating if she gets a tack in her foot.
It was gruesome. There was blood. I had to close my eyes when I snipped because I was so sure it was going to hurt. Terrible, horrible, nerve-splicing pain.
And -- confession time -- I had to snip twice.
Actually, it didn't hurt. It did bleed, but I held a tissue on it for fifteen minutes and that was over.
Now I just have a nice little scab.
And no more skin tag on my nose. That thing people kept thinking was a bit of tissue or a booger. Well-meaning people would pull me gently aside and say, "You have something on your nose."
"I know. It's a skin tag. It's a genetic thing. I get them every once in a while." This is the first one I'd had on my nose. It was next to my left nostril.
I love that it's gone. I was actually avoiding talking to people I felt so self-conscious about it. Isn't that stupid? Or I'd talk to them with the left half of my face turned away.
For example, today when I was at gymnastics with Anna, I was talking to a very nice lady who also has her daugher in gymnastics and I actually, consciously thought, "Boy, I'm glad I'm sitting with the left side of my face turned away from her so she can't see my skin tag!"
On the way out the door, I considered that thought. Am I horribly conceited? Or does it just mean this skin tag is hanging between me and a normal life?
I decided on the latter, went home, held my breath and ... snip!
I just hope it doesn't grow back.