Yay, I'm not Obsessive Compulsive!!

It's nice to be back in my own habitat. I planned to sleep in this morning (Dad's suggestion), but I woke up at 7:22 needing to go to the bathroom. So I did, kind of hoping I'd be able to go back to bed and ignore the universe for another hour or so.

But I come back, and there is Ethan, camped out on the floor on Mattie's side with his pillow and what I assume to be a not-wet blanket. As in, dry. And clean. Unlike the bed he has left. He has a sheepish look on his face, which I've missed quite a lot the past few weeks of goneness...

So I tell him he can crawl in bed with me. You know, just this once. He happily does so. "There were three in the bed, and the little one said..." Actually there are four, because Laila is there too, twitching her tail and ready, as usual, to make trouble.

I give Ethan a ration of the blankets and then settle in to possibly go to sleep again (haha, nice idea) :) Two minutes pass. Then Ethan's voice: "Uh, Cass, your head is touching my shoulder" Yes, Ethan, my head is touching your shoulder.

"Is that ok?" I ask.

"Yeah. I thought it might hurt you."

"Nope. It doesn't hurt. Does it hurt your shoulder?"

"No."

I close my eyes and keep them closed. We carry on a pleasant conversation while my eyes are closed and my head is still touching his shoulder. It all goes in one ear and out the other, so to speak. Then, out of the blue:

"Goldilocks looks like you."

"She does? What makes you think that?"

I can't get a satisfactory answer, but Mattie agrees that I could look like Goldilocks...if I grew out my hair, curled it, dyed it, and got some colored contacts. I'm not sure why the colored contacts, because to my knowledge, Goldilocks's eye color is a fact lost to legend. But it stands to reason that all fantastic characters must have piercingly blue, warm chocolaty brown, sharp black, or sea grey eyes. Inbetweens are generally deemed unrecordable, unless they change by mood. Ooo! Scores for that.

Anyhow, after the discussion about Goldilocks eye color, we talk about other things. And then, the outcry from the small warm lump on my right side, whose arm is raised aloft in triumph:

"I have a booger!!!"

(Female reactions of surprise and mild terror)

Grabbing of kleenex-like object from nearby nightstand.

"Here, Ethan, put it here, put it here!" He's waving his the booger around on the end of his finger, enjoying his reign of terror.

"Put it here, Ethan!"

"It's gone," he chirps.

"Ethan!! Where?"

"To Booger Land." He's examining the brown bedskirt on my side of the bed.

"WHERE is Booger Land?" I demand. But the cause is lost. I think I know at least the general vicinity of Booger Land and the knowledge is too high for me- I cannot attain to it.

What would Mr. Monk say???

Epilogue:

The offending Booger was never located. We did wash sheets afterward, but I have resigned myself to dwelling in Booger Land. At least I know I'm not OCD.