Snot Girl and Booger Boy

Chapter 5: Two Dollars!

One Friday in August, Mother gave each of the now six-year-old twins a banana and juice for their morning meal (Theodore and Eleanor never had “breakfast” because that was eggs and bacon, coffee and toast, and was apparently only for Father because Mother only had coffee), and Mother told them to finish up because they needed to go school shopping.

The twins looked at one another, wondering what Mother meant. Of course, they knew about school, and they knew about grocery shopping and occasionally clothes shopping, but they had never heard of school shopping.

“But mother, there’s only one school,” said Theodore matter-of-factly around a mouthful of banana.

Because she was trying to chew and snort heavily at the same time, Eleanore only nodded.

“I mean, we need to shop for school supplies,” said Mother, setting her coffee cup on the table. “Like pencils, paper, glue, and crayons. That sort of thing.”

“We already have those,” said Eleanor.

“Yes. But you need new ones for school.”

The twins looked at one another and shrugged. “OK.”

Bananas and juice finished, Mother ushered Eleanore and Theodore out the door, and as she was locking up, the twins went to the Checker and started to get in.

“We’re not going in the car,” called Mother. “We’re walking to Mr Lingle’s.”

“We’re not going to town?” questioned Theodore.

“Or the city?” whined Eleanor.

Mother didn’t answer but walked past the Checker to the front curb. “Come on.”

The twins were a little disappointed at losing out on an adventure in town (or even the city) because those things often ended with ice cream, but they followed Mother anyway. Maybe they would at least get candy at Mr Lingle’s.

Now, for context, Father, Mother, and the twins did not live in the city, or the town, or even much of a village. There was a crossroads with Mr Lingle’s store on one corner, an Esso service station on another, the school building on the other, and the municipal building (“municipal” being a very large word for such a small village) on the last.

Father, who the twins felt was very smart because he worked in the city, bought their house miles away from even the town because he knew that “eventually our little crossroads will become a suburb, and values will go through the roof!” At least that’s how he convinced Mother that they should have a $6,000 mortgage to live there instead of the “crowded, smelly, crime-ridden city.” Mother supposed he was right, but she wasn’t completely convinced. Besides, the city (where Mother grew up) was exciting and their “little crossroad” was capital B boring.

The twins had heard some version of this conversation for all their six years, and sadly, they would continue to hear it regularly for the foreseeable future.

When Mother opened the door at Mr Lingle’s, a bell above it announced them. Busy at his counter, Mr Lingle looked up with a wide smile that melted slightly when he saw the twins. They weren’t bad children, but they were children, after all, and messy. Especially these two, who seemed to have overwhelming allergies to everything. Especially the girl. How in the world could that much snot come out of that cute little nose?

“Good morning, Missus,” said Mr Lingle brightly. “Hello, twins,” he said, a little less brightly.

“We here to school shop,” said Theodore, already looking around.

“And maybe get candy,” hinted Eleanor.

Mr Lingle spoke directly to Mother. “We have everything you need right there on the table in front of the canned goods. Will you need new shoes or a pretty dress for Eleanor, or maybe a raincoat for Theodore?”

Mr Lingle was hoping Mother needed something pricier than pencils and paper for the twins.

“No thank you, Mr Lingle. They have all they need as far as that goes.”

Mother took a list of the supplies the twins need from her purse and began to scan the selection on the table.

“Two rulers, four fat number 2 pencils—”

“I want skinny pencils!” protested Eleanore.

“Four fat number 2 pencils, two erasers, two pencil boxes—”

“I want a Superman pencil box!” shouted Theodor

“Two plain pencil boxes, two wide-ruled composition notebooks, two boxes of crayons—”

“48!” shouted both twins, bouncing on their feet.

“8!” warned Mother. “First-graders don’t need more colors than that. We’ll see about 16 next year.”

The twins grumbled.

“And two small jars of white paste.”

“What’s that for?” asked Eleanor.

“For gluing things together in art class,” explained Mother.

Mr Lingle looked up from writing the selected items down and said, “I used to eat paste when I was your age.”

Mother glared. “You’re not helping, Mr Lingle.”

“What’s it taste like? Boogers?” Theodore interjected.

Mr Lingle looked alarmed. “You shouldn’t eat boogers,” said Mr Lingle, looking serious and shaking his head.

“Or paste!” glared Mother at no one in particular.

The twins helped Mother carry their supplies to the counter, and Mr Lingle began ringing them up on the ancient cash register.

“Is there anything else, Missus?” hoped Mr Lingle.

“Candy!” chimed the twins.

Mother was just ready to pay and get home. As shopping trips with the children went, this one was not bad, but the slightest stress seemed to wear Mother out these days.

“I suppose. Two pieces of penny candy, please,” sighed Mother.

“We have delicious Clark—”

“Two pieces of penny candy, please,” she repeated.

Painting © Ferrel Cordle

“Of course. That will be two dollars and thirteen cents.”

Stripped of an extra eight cents, Mr Lingle handed each of the twins a peppermint and bagged the school supplies as Mother searched her purse for a dime and three pennies.

Finally, for Mr Lingle had begun to fear that Mother was digging for two hundred and thirteen pennies, she handed him two dollars, two nickels, and three pennies.

“Thank you, and come again!” Mr Lingle waved. Then, under his breath as the bell announced their exit, he said, “And maybe spend some money next time.”

As Mother carried the small bag of school supplies the two blocks home, the twins lagged behind, sucking on their peppermints.

“I can’t wait to try that paste!” whispered Theodore.

“Ooh, that’s nasty!” giggled Eleanor as she snorted deeply and swallowed a great gob of snot.

At home that evening, Father glanced over the top of his newspaper.

“How was your day?”

“Oh, nothing special. I took the twins to Mr Lingles to get school supplies.”

“School supplies?”

“You know, pencils, paper, glue, and crayons. That sort of thing.”

“They already have those things here,” said Father incredulously.

“Yes. But they need new ones for school.”

Father thought for a moment. “OK. How much did it cost?”

“Two dollars and thirteen cents.”

Father tossed his paper aside and looked offended. “Two dollars!”

“And thirteen cents.”

“Two dollars and thirteen cents! I’m not made of money, you know!”

“We’re not made of money.” Mother set her knitting aside. “And before you pop a gasket, I have something to tell you.”

“What? You sold that beater of yours to pay for school supplies?” Father sneered. He was truly hoping that was it. He hated that car.

“No.” Mother seriously considered passive-aggressively ending the conversation with a “never mind,” but wasn’t in the mood to argue all evening.

“I had a phone call this afternoon from the woolen mill. I got a job!”

“Excellent!” Father smiled, then said, “They won’t have you knitting, will they? You never seem to finish any of that.”

“No, smart aleck.” Mother strode across the room and sat in Father’s lap. With a kiss on his cheek, she said, “I’ll be answering the phone and filing papers.”

© 2026, Brian G Parker