Thursday, June 30, 2005

There Are Limits

George approaches me, his little face tipped up, blue eyes wide under his dirty blond flip of hair. (My kids, incidentally, call that upswept bangs thing a 'whoop'.) "Mary, I got boogers." Not one of my favourite things to hear, but I am, as I've said before, A Professional. "All right, my dear. Here's a kleenex. Blow." George performs an exceedingly ineffectual little puff, which I suspect came out his mouth, anyway. He confirms its inefficacy when he says, "They're still in there." "Well, George, you blew and they didn't come out. I think that's all we can do about it." "No-oo!" he is insistent, perhaps even a little indignant. "You gots to get it." I give him a look, let a beat go by so he'll understand that what I'm about to say is a complete and absolute non-negotiable. "George? George, I don't pick noses."


Anonymous Si said...

On the up side, at least he didn't ask "Why"


7/01/2005 07:34:00 a.m.  
Blogger Mary P. said...

lol... George is a consistent why-er, that's for sure, but (unlike Harry!) he has the sense to know when a why won't fly.

7/01/2005 08:53:00 a.m.  

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