Take My Hand

Sometimes in a long marriage, and by long I mean nearly 37 years, in this day and age, a miracle, you need to ask your spouse a question that may shake him to his very core. So this morning, as hubby was rushing off to work in the TV trenches, I cranked up the interrogation.
"Hang on there, mister. Where do you think you're going?"
"To hobnob with celebrities."
"But you did that last week."
"And I'm doing it again this week."
"You really do suffer for your art, don't you?"
"Yes, I do."
"Before you go, I must ask you something."
"Should I be worried?"
"Very."
"Go ahead."

"If we were ever walking off an airplane in an official, diplomatic capacity..."
"It seems unlikely -- "
"And the entire world was watching, and I reached for your manly hand to hold, would you swat it away like a stinky fillet o' fish sandwich?"
"Hmm. Let me think about it."
"Take your time."
"I would not swat your hand away. I would hold it proudly, and diplomatically."
"Good answer."
"Okay, see you later."
"Hang on, I have one more question."
"Make it fast."
"If we were ever walking off an airplane in an official, diplomatic capacity, and you reached for my hand but maybe I didn't see you do it, on account of the worldwide attention making me all farklempt, would you give my tush a slight reassuring tap, instead?"
"No, I wouldn't."
"Why not?"
"I'd wait till we're meeting the Pope in private."
"Good answer. You may now exit the premises."