The Hanky.

I overheard the following conversation between Joe and Dot while I was cooking dinner last night:

Dot:  “Joe stop picking your nose!”

Silence.

Dot:  “Well at least use your hanky then…!”

Silence.

Dot:  “Joe!”

Joe:  “…you know, I can leave here whenever i want to…”

Dot:  “Oh yeah? Where are you gonna go?”

Joe:  “Anywhere I want.”

Dot:  “You’re too old.”

Joe laughed: “I am not!”

Dot:  “Joe…you’re 92 years old.  You’re not going anywhere…”

Joe laughed again: “Well if I’m 92 then you must be at least 100!”

Dot:  “Here, just use my hanky…”

(sounds of nose-horn honking ensues.)

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