Hand Over The Toothpick & No One Gets Hurt

"The Man of The Toothpick" - Jocelyn Millet

I'm just going to put it out there on a Sunday morn: Toothpicks. Not a fan. Why? I'll tell you why. Because when I see someone walking, driving or picking a banjo with a toothpick dangling from his mouth -- have you ever seen a gal walking, driving or picking a banjo with a toothpick dangling from her mouth? -- my mind starts in with the worrying and the what-ifs. What if he trips? What if he stops suddenly? There goes the toothpick down his gullet, wreaking internal havoc and a near-death, call 911 episode. This has been an issue of mine for so long that I've been publicly shamed at birthday celebrations by someone I thought was my friend. Did he have to regale a room full of people with the decades-old story of "Carol & The Toothpick" at my 40th? Just because I asked, okay, demanded that longtime hubby hand over the toothpick while driving? What's wrong with that? When did wifely thoughtfulness go out the passenger-side window?

Anyone?

While the "friend" who shamed me, ruthlessly, has learned (after about three decades) never to bring up "Carol & The Toothpick" again, at least not in my presence, what, you may wonder, has longtime hubby taken from my "lose the toothpick, you weren't raised a farm" on-going lecture series?

Absolute and total bupkis.

Which leads us to this Sunday morn and a brief conversation he has already forgotten:
"Honey?"
"Yes, honey?"
"I saved your life last night."
"You did?"
"Yes."
"What did you do?"
"You were dozing off during 'Anthony Hopkins as King Lear --' "
"It was too wordy."
"Don't change the subject, Mister."
"Sorry."
"You were dozing off with a toothpick in your mouth."
"Oh."
"I took it out of your mouth, thereby saving you from swallowing it and potentially plotzing right there on the La-Z-Boy."
"Oh."
"What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Thank you?"
"You're very welcome."