I was standing in line at the post office the other day and I saw the lady in front of me had a long string in her hair. Well, that’s probably embarrassing, I thought. I better help her out. I always like to tell people if they have cilantro or spinach in their teeth or their fly is open or that they have toilet paper on their shoes that they’re dragging all around. It’s what I’d want someone to do for me. I don’t like people touching me, though, but I violated my own code and reached out my hand to her hair in my benevolence and said, “You have something in your hair,” while pulling the string out.
She looked behind her and said, somewhat wryly, “Oh, that’s my floss. I thought I threw it out the window.” I hadn’t known that it was possible to floss and drive, but more importantly, I was holding something that had been all over this woman’s mouth and in between her teeth and gums in my bare hands.
She plucked the floss from my hand and threw it in the trash. By mutual silent agreement, we ignored each other the rest of the time we were in line.