You Can Pick Your Friends . . .

(Oh, Zane, forgive me when you are older. Son, I HAD to record this story.)

Zane has a new habit. 

THAT habit.

Yep, digging around in the recesses of his nostrils for treasure.

I catch him every time. 

I've used every command I can think of to encourage threaten him to stop.

I've been gentle.

I've been downright nasty. 

What is so darn interesting up there?

Recently, I caught him in the act and told him to stop. Again.

He burst into tears.

I hadn't yelled this time. I hadn't told  him that he'd be labeled a nose-picker if the kids in school catch him. I didn't go into a tirade about it being disgusting.

I just told him to stop.

Why the tears?

"Zane, I don't want to hurt your feelings. But, really, you have to quit it."

"Mom!!!!!!!!!  I'm so confused."

Serious flow of tears.  

"Zane, what is there to be confused about???"

"I'm just doing what Daddy told me to do! I'm trying to do the right thing!"

What the-?

"Daddy told me I can pick my friends, and I CAN pick my nose, but that I can't pick my FRIEND's nose! See, I'm doing what he said!"

No punchline.

I'm speechless.