From my conversation with Boo during a hike today. She’d earlier gotten a scratch on her foot.
<div class="photocaption"> Cellphone cap of the <br />window to the soul. </div> </td>
“Sometimes I like boo-boos and sometimes I don’t like boo-boos. I like boo-boos because I like the blood. The blood washes the boo-boo out. I want to get a boo-boo.”
Tonight, she picked her nose until it bled — just a little, thank god for small favors — and only on threat of no-Scooby-Doo-for-life would she stop tasting her own blood.
This job makes me feel clueless and fascinated, often at the same time.