A hair!

My family likes to tease me about a special talent I possess. That talent is my ability to spot stray hairs in mine or my table mate's food. Long or short, blonde or brown, I will find it and get rid of it before anyone can have the unfortunate experience of swallowing it. The funny thing is, I never feel like I'm LOOKING for hairs. I just always happen to find them.

Last night, Brian and I spent our last night of Christmas break at his parents' home. While eating dinner (a very tasty alfredo ravioli dish), I noticed that a long hair was hiding in Brian's salad. I wanted so badly to warn him about it, but he was very involved in a conversation with his dad. I didn't want to interrupt, and I also didn't want to offend whoever made the salad. It took a lot of self-control, but I managed to keep my mouth shut and just hope Brian would notice the hair or lose his appetite for salad.

He didn't do either.

I watched, horrified, as he took his next bite, the hair dangling from his fork. Again, I wanted to shout out, "Hair!" But Brian's dad was talking, and I still felt it would be rude to interrupt. Brian put the fork in his mouth and began chewing the salad. But now the hair was dangling from his mouth. Maybe I could snatch it from from his mouth without anyone watching . . . Who was I kidding? That was about the most conspicuous thing I could do. There was nothing I could do, so I just made myself look away. I also smiled a little to myself, realizing the humor of the situation. I couldn't wait to tell my family about this one! When I looked back, the hair was gone, I'm sure making its way down Brian's esophagus.

So, in conclusion, I am a horrible wife because I let my husband eat a hair and I actually thought it was funny.