Wednesday Emissions

Leo is circling the oak tree. His left hand trailing along the bark in his wake. He's been at it for awhile now, and I'm impressed. The root system on this tree calls to mind Maleficent's thorn forest from "Sleeping Beauty."
Leo is the last camper waiting at carpool. We stand quietly under the tree as he circles.
"So, Leo. You're doing a really great job at camp. What else do you like to do?"
Circle. Circle. Silent Circle.
"Well, I enjoy creating adventures for my mom and dad and me to go on from the stories in 'National Geographic' magazine."
I am impressed again. That's a really wonderful idea.
"You know, Leo, that's a wonderful idea. The issue from the late 1980s with the feature on Arctic foxes was one of my favorites. I loved that photo spread."
Circle. Circle. Silent Circle.
"Yeah. I do the same thing with the Pottery Barn catalogue."
.....
Earlier in the day, Knox is leaning casually against the wall beside the registration desk. Glistening, jiggling columns of snot roll like slugs down his upper lip. I am aghast. He is casually conversational.
"Poop, grass, cats, hair, dogs, any animal really. My allergies are awful!"
I nod mutely and hand him the seventieth tissue in as many seconds. This pattern continues throughout the day. We run out of all tissue boxes purchased for camp purposes and move on to a roll of paper towels until Knox's nose starts to resemble a rotting persimmon and then it's on to toilet paper. I am following him around with said toilet paper handing him three squares at a time and trying to be inconspicuous in an effort to shield him from any poop humor fueled inquiries into why he is blowing his nose with TP when suddenly he stops in his tracks, turns to face me, reaches gracefully up with his right arm and blasts a vigorous snot rocket onto the floor at my feet.
Aghast, aghast....synonyms for aghast......
I am certain my face turned into a horror waffle. I struggle to compose myself and get him all cleaned up. In that tone of voice Tom Hanks uses in "A League of Their Own" to explain to the sobbing Evelyn how crucial it is that she not miss the cut off, I suggest that Knox never ever ever ever EVER do that again.
He's cool with that. Absorbs the life lesson and immediately resumes smushing squares of yellow felt onto the thumbtip of a gardening glove.*
This serves me right. You see...
Once upon a time on a high school show choir trip to Disney World in the 11th grade, I overheard a boy I liked mention that Miriam** blew "snot rockets in the shower." Now. I had no idea what a snot rocket was. Had never heard the term mentioned before. I investigated. One of the altos was in the know and let me in on the definition- plugging up one nostril by pressure exerted via finger from the outside of the nose and blowing out as hard as you can through the other nostril, thereby heaving all mucous therein out of your body. So, whatever. The shower honestly sounded like the most logical place to do something like that. But, for some reason- I'd hazard to place the blame on immaturity, jealousy-- Miriam was a cheerleader and I secretly longed to have one of those uniforms. The personal suspicion that I just might appear more "skeptical baked potato" than "lissome team spirit builder" in that uniform prevented me from trying out for the squad.***
Combining those two things with the fact that I very, very secretly wanted to impress one or two of the tenors led me to the following: striding evilly up behind Miriam as she walked near the front of our group down the lavishly joyful, flower-strewn, and goodwill-filled Disney World Main Street USA, clearing my throat as we neared the welcoming terrace of Cinderella's castle and bellowing just loudly enough to shatter her princess dreams, "Hey, Miriam! WHAT'S A SNOT ROCKET?"
Desired effect not achieved. Instantly sure I am going to hell. Aforementioned boys stop in their tracks, turn their heads and stare at me in shock and disgust. Up until this point, I have been sweet, shy, puffy-haired Muffin**** with her white high top Nike basketball sneakers and FUBU coat she sometimes borrowed from her favorite baritone. Now I've said this.
I apologize, repair the friendship, and learn a very very huge lesson.
Not sure why I needed the reminder.

*"Star Wars." Trust me.
**So not her real name.
***My self image has since improved. Though I don't know I'll ever get "lissome." One needs, I feel, legs longer than Trapper-Keepers to earn that adjective.
****High school nickname. More on that later.