You Can Pick Your Nose But You Can’t Pick Your Parents

(We’re out to dinner at a rather nice steakhouse; our group consists of my husband, me, our two children — our six-year-old daughter and eight-year-old son — and our friend. Our daughter is colouring on the paper provided when she scratches at the edge of her nostril.)

Husband: *jokingly, once she’s finished* “Does it feel nice to pick your nose?” 

Daughter: “I didn’t pick my nose; I scratched it!” *shows him how she scratched her nose*

Husband: “Again, did it feel nice to pick your nose?”

Daughter: *raising her voice* “I. Didn’t. Pick. My. Nose!” 

Server: *approaching as our daughter yells the last bit* “I… can come back… later?” 

Me: “No, please ignore them. This is quite normal.” *to my husband* “Knock it off, or I’ll call you a [ride-share] to take you home.”

(My daughter gave my husband a smug smile and turned to the server to order, smiling the entire time much like the cat that ate the canary. After all, her daddy got scolded, but she didn’t! Poor server is definitely getting a huge tip tonight.)