Madeline: “Look, Daddy. A buggar.” (I’m sorry. I don’t know if this is the correct way to spell buggar.)
Daddy: “Uh, where’d you get that?”
Madeline: “From my nose.” (Said the same way “Duh, Daddy” would be uttered.)
Daddy: “You shouldn’t pick your nose, but if you have to, do it in private.”
Pause in this deeply intimate conversation I just happen to be overhearing.
Daddy: “So, what are you going to do with that buggar?”
Madeline: “Eat it.” (Another “Duh, Daddy” moment.”)
Daddy: “That’s gross. We don’t eat our buggars.” Daddy gets a tissue and takes the buggar away.
Madeline: “No! Daddy, give it back. That’s my buggar.”
Daddy ignores daughter’s pleas, throws tissue down toilet and eradicates the boogie.
Madeline briefly laments her lost snack and then resumes looking for some books to read before bedtime.
Forgive me, Madeline, for sharing this with all of cyberspace.