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It’s your booger.

I was wrestling with my two year-old son. He was climbing all over me. Squeezing my face. Tickling me. Standing on my chest. Throwing himself onto my head. Then he stopped. Frowned. Pointed at my chest. “Ew,” he said. “Yucky! What dat?” I looked. I saw. “That’s your booger, Charlie. Your giant booger on my…

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