The day I found a baby boogie on my finger

Picking baby boogies is Mommy's thing, not mine. She also does the Mommy spit-and-clean thing and other monkey-picking-and-preening things. I don't.
I'm sure mommies across the world will side with Willow's Mommy, claiming her hygienic ways are much more suitable than mine, with the baby wipes and tissues. I'm not a believer, though I'm sure I'll sprint to Mommy when a "kiss-my-booboo-better emergency" arises.
And yet, here I find myself hours after my most recent fall into mommydom. Yes, I picked a nose this morning, and it wasn't mine.
The disgrace.
But here's the thing I'm most disgraced about: I don't know where the boogie went. It vanished.
I checked my hands then the area in close proximity to Willow's face at the time. No boogies. So I carried on with my day.
Hours passed.
Et voila.
The boogie appeared me.
And he taunted me.
"Nanny, nanny, boo, boo, I'm a boogie-boo-boo, and I'm still on your finger, SUCKA!"
And so I sit here now, and I wonder. Where did the boogie go? Where was the boogie hiding? Was the boogie on my hand all along?
I don't have the answer, but maybe the boogie can tell me where Willow's two missing socks are.

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