I Will Pick My Nose During The Children’s Recital, And There Is Nothing You Can Do About It

Listen up, Gertrude, or Becky, or whatever your name is, teacher lady. I know you think you hold all the cards. You think you’re in control of this little performance of cutesy songs like “This Little Light of Mine” and “Go Tell It on the Mountain.” You’re riding high, thinking that you have all the power around these parts.

But I want to be clear about one thing: you control nothing.

I’m running this show now, cupcake. And should I choose to pick my nose during the show, there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.

I’ll reach up there and start digging for buried treasure right when your precious little Sophia starts her “adorable” little solo in “I’ve Got the Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy Down in my Heart.” She may have the joy, but I’ve got an irresistible itch about two and a half inches up my left nostril, and I’ll be nose-mining in front of everyone, whether you like it or not.

Oh, yes. I’m going to town on my adorable little button nose, and all you’ll be able to do is smile and laugh along with the parents, who will no longer be paying attention to the cherubic children obeying your every move, swaying to your symphony like marionettes. They’ll be paying attention to me now, sweetheart.

But behind that laugh, I’ll know that you’re dying a little inside with each scrape of my fingernail inside my disgusting little nose. The parents may not see. The pastor may not see. Jesus may not see. But I’ll see, and I’ll relish your anguish.

Hope you enjoy the show!