There are times when I like to sneak up on the kids and start chasing them. I suspect I enjoy doing it because so many people in middle and high school enjoyed chasing me; I did not enjoy it.
Andrew was innocently playing with a few of his Cars toys when I snuck up behind him and wrestled him to the floor. We were both laughing when Andrew had a question.
"Daddy? What dat?" he asked.
"What are you looking at?" I asked.
"Dere. In your nose," Andrew said as he literally pointed into my nose.
I wasn't too sure what he was looking at, but I assumed it must have been a booger.
"Oh. Do I have a boogie in my nose?" I said as I nonchalantly used my fingers to clean my nostrils.
"Yah," Andrew agreed. "Lots and lots of boogies. Black boogies!"
Black boogies? I've had green, yellow, red, and an errant lavender boogie. But not a black boogie. At least not since I quit being a coal miner.
"Are you sure I have a black boogie?" I asked.
"Here, here, here, here. All black!" Andrew asserted.
I got up and went to the mirror to see what he was talking about. There were no black boogies to be found. But then I replayed the conversation in my head, and when Andrew was saying, "Here, here, here, here," what he was really saying was, "Hair, hair, hair, hair," because I noticed stray nostril hairs protruding from my nose.
Embarrassing? Yes. But not as embarrassing as when Emma said, "Here, here, here, here," when I bent over and she saw my butt crack.
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