I hope you knocked the fork out of your husband's hand in time.
Apropos of absolutely nothing....
Another pointless and only marginally amusing story of the type I tell at night because, well, scotch, but here ‘tis:
Back in the college days I made a trip to visit my folks for a few days and my roommate and his brother (my two best friends) came along. They hadn’t met my folks as yet. My roomie (let’s call him Bob) was an outspoken, bold and funny-as-hell sort and my parents were super-nice, conservative Appalachian hospitality hounds, so I knew it would be fun.
The first night there we all sat down to dinner and my fundie minister dad took his place at the head of the table and, after saying a proper blessing, started in immediately with the southern hospitality.
We all had full plates in front of us and Dad said to Bob, who was seated on his left, “Now Bob, you make yourself right at home. You see something you want, you just go right ahead and help yourself.”
Bob replied brightly, “Okay, thanks!” and reached out and lifted a forkful of mashed potatoes right off my dad’s plate and popped it into his own mouth, then smiled right bigly at my dad. The whole table immediately fell into wide-eyed dead silence for a moment, and then I’m pretty sure I was the first to start falling apart in laughter. My dad was last to laugh but when he did, I could see it was genuine as all hell. It ended up a very fun and memorable visit.
Thanks for the memories, Bob!