You Can’t Make It Up

“Mrs. Wetmore! I can’t find it. I picked it. Dropped it and now can’t find it to throw it in the trash,” Gavin says holding up his finger to me on Wednesday morning during reading time.

“What did you loose,” I ask confused.

Gavin looks at me as if I have 3 heads for not understanding him and replies “I picked my nose. Don’t worry it was a small bugger. But then I dropped it. It was small so I can’t find it to throw it in the trash.”

“Um, what?!,” I respond thinking I heard him wrong through his mumbling and mask.

“I picked my nose. And then I dropped the small bugger and now don’t know where it is. What should I do,” he asks in a dead serious but worried tone of voice.

“I think you should wash your hands,” I told him. “And keep your second grade fingers out of your nose,” I thought as he walked away in search of soap and water.

4 thoughts on “You Can’t Make It Up

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