It has been alleged on the internet that dust consists of 80% dead human skin. This is false. What is true, however, is that, regardless of what dust is made out of, around 30% of the population, including me, is allergic to it. What is also true is that, when a place is left uncleaned for extended periods of time, like my room, that dust builds up. Getting rid of it, like I did last weekend when I redecorated for the holiday season, is quite the sternutatory experience.
Sternutatory means inducing sneezing, deriving from the Latin root for to sneeze, sternuere. Its noun form, sternutation, means sneezing, an unfortunately prevalent phenomenon during the winter months, or when one is otherwise surrounded by irritants such as dust—which I was.
Every sweep of the cloth I was using over my bookshelf sent up a wispy cloud of dust that made for my nostrils with the precision and speed of a heat-seeking missile. Achoo! My spritzing the cloth with dusting spray did little to stem the aerosolized particles, and by the time all of the various books, bookends, and other trinkets had been removed, cleaned, and put back onto the newly dusted bookshelf, my sternutation drowned out the holiday music I’d put on.
With the agonizing experience of dusting over with, I turned my attention to remaking my bed. It wasn’t dusty, and therefore wasn’t sternutatory, so there would be a respite from my relentless sneezing. Taking the sheets off of my bed and shaking them out, however, my nose tickled again, scrunched, and achoo. How was it that making my bed was sternutatory, too? A ray of sunlight through my window caught my eye, and the mystery was solved. Floating in the air, illuminated, was fur. Dog fur, to be precise. Poppy, our family dog, must’ve taken a nap or two on my bed, and unfurling my sheets had undone all the effort I’d just put towards cleaning my carpet. Sternutation racked my body as I miserably fluffed my pillow, sneeze after merciless sneeze.
Turning to my closet, which conveniently happens to double as a full-length mirror, I observed with dismay that my nose was an angry pink and my eyes brimmed with reflexive tears. Even my abs ached from the involuntary crunches my sternutation brought. It was time to bail. Abort mission. Setting my pillow down, and sparing one last look to make sure my decorations were presentable, I fled my room, not returning until it was time to go to bed.
Settling under the covers and looking around at my spiffy room made my sternutatory afternoon dusting worthwhile. I drifted off, trying to dream about winter break instead of the thin layer of dust that was already accumulating on my bookshelf.
