Dinner time with friends. Nothing fancy but enjoying their company at a local restaurant. One of the men is old enough to be my dad and is evidently to the point in his life where he feels comfortable enough to pick his nose during dinner. I don't mean a quick swipe with the side of a finger. Not an irritable little itch that needs the tip of a fingernail at the nostril opening. I mean he's knuckle deep, pushing his head back and wishing he had some pliers kinda nose-picking.
I know, you think I'm exaggerating. Surely it wasn't that bad. Surely if it was he must have gone to the bathroom to take care of this business, right? Nope. I promise. Right there sitting across from me at the restaurant table. He even finished his wife's story at one point with one whole fingernail completely involved in this dark business. I tried to not look but when he is talking it's hard not to notice.
Nauseated yet? Hang on. Let me just tell you how he finished up. At one point it literally took two fingers to unload this cargo and when he had given a good yank and was pleased with the effort he (I promise this is true, every word) commenced to rolling the treasure between his palms like Play-doh until it dried up and fell probably into his lap. He wiped his hands on his pants and sat back and gave a satisfying sniff. Mission accomplished.
I did not shake hands with him as we left.
Just be glad I did not include a picture for this post.