Little Miss has been picking her nose a lot lately. I’m guessing the continual change in seasons in Chicago from winter to summer to winter to summer and back again is wreaking a little havoc on her poor sinuses, along with ninety-nine percent of the population around here.
Nonetheless, while I can ignore it to some degree (thankfully, she isn’t a booger eater) or remind her gently when I see her, my mom is repulsed by it and is willing to try any tactic she can to get Little Miss to stop.
Little Miss, my mother wheedled in a charming voice. How will you ever get a boyfriend if you pick your nose like that?
(Aside: because a five year old needs to worry about getting a boyfriend? But that’s another topic to discuss with my mother later. Let’s not pressure her about her worth as a person as measured by her relationship status, please.)
But, Grandma, she looked up at my mom oh-so-matter-of-factly, it’s ok. Paul (not his real name) picks his nose, too!
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