Electricity danced along my neurons, my lungs struggled for oxygen. My eyes bulged and my lips parted in preparation for the discordant scream that would shatter the peaceful silence.
WHO WIPED BOOGERS ON THE BATHROOM WALL?
Yep, on the wall– right above the full roll of toilet paper– sat dual booger volcanoes.
First it was a numb shock, like what the hell is that on the wall? But then? Then it feels like measured deliberateness. Either my oldest child* is using the scientific method as he analyzes The Average Time To Wall Cleaning, or he’s founded the Mucous Mafia and the dried boogers are my horse head in the bed.
Extreme? Meh, there is just no other explanation for this sudden co-mingling of my walls and his snot. One does not spend 6 years putting boogers in the trash can to suddenly start wall-wiping them.
*How can I be certain that it’s the Oldest Small Person? Because the youngest one is smart enough to eat the evidence. God, I puked in my mouth a little bit. Kids (and 22-year-old baseball players) are so damn gross.
After I delivered a horrified–and pants-less, because who has time to put on pants when dried boogers sit crusting RIGHT ABOVE the toilet paper— reminder of why boogers belong in toilet paper, tissue, or trash cans and never, ever on walls, I thought we were good.
Several quiet, booger-free weeks passed. I even noticed a reduction in booger eating from the youngest one. And triple bonus, my husband, utterly embarrassed by my posting of the crystallized pee, really ramped up the toilet seat etiquette.
But then tonight…this. On the sink? It feels like a challenge. It feels like broccoli-based dinners for a week. It feels like… saving all of the wall-dried boogers in a jar. For his senior year in high school.