“Hey, hey, hey, happy birthday!”
I look down to see a quarter moon sliver thrust at my face, and it’s not even my birthday but that escapes my notice as the fingernail is so unexpected.
And I take it, assuming the intent is that I throw it away. Of course.
“No, no, no, wait! That’s my fingernail. Give it back!”
He heats himself a slice of pizza and I ask, “What did you do with the fingernail?”
“I put it in your pocket.”
The thing is, I knew that it hadn’t lasted two seconds after being snatched away from the prospective trash can. “No, you didn’t. Where is it?”
“I don’t remember.” He laughed at whatever he was watching on television.
“Your pizza is ready,” I told him.