nose picker

As I am walking up my parents staircase... hand on handrail...
I look at one of the white banisters and see what looks like a dried glob... a booger.
Disgusting.

Me, "Um, ...mom? I think Evie might have wiped a nasty boogie on your staircase here. I'll clean it up."
My mother, "Yes, she told me she did that."
We both exchange looks of disgust and no surprise.

Rob had recently told me Evie wiped an amazing masterpiece on the couch after she announced she had one on her finger. He mistakingly told her to "get rid of it," thinking his implication to 'lean forward and grab a kleenex' was a concept she was familiar with. It wasn't. Wiping it on the seat next to her, sadly, was a more obvious solution.

Fast forward to our car ride home from my mom/dad's house.
From the backseat, "Mom."
"Yeah?" (not looking).
"I got a boogie."
I turn around. Evie has a one-finger solute.
"Ugh, Evie!"
"I need a tissue. I need a tissue to put this boogie."
Well, at least she is solving half the problem... the final destination is the most part of this nose picking problem. Gross!