All of us in the kindergarten class were sitting criss-cross applesauce with our hands in our laps (spoons in the bowl), looking up and listening to the teacher. She was sitting in a rocking chair, reading a book in an overdramatized voice. Her rosy cheeks swelled under her eyes when she smiled.
Then, as if alerted by some sixth sense, she stopped reading, lowered the book an inch so that she could peer over it, and ordered me aloud to stop picking my nose. The other kids all turned their heads to stare at me, with my finger still stuck up to the knuckle in my nostril.
How do teachers know? 🧐