The nose picker in question was a young and otherwise attractive woman driving about 15 miles per hour on a major four-lane road that was already (forgive me) quite congested. While she performed what I think can be fairly described as The Procedure, her Lincoln Town Car was straddling the white line like Mary-Lou Retin on a pommel horse.
Now, I can’t claim to speak from experience; I don’t pick my nose (I only scratch), but is it really such an impossible feat of multi-tasking to assign one foot to the accelerator and one hand to the steering wheel while your finger pursues those precious nuggets of nose gold?
To her credit, if nose picking were a sport, this gal would be an Olympian. She was two knuckles deep, and extremely focused. So much so that I was tempted to slow down and observe her dismount. See the golden fruits of her labor.
But I had my own mission to complete. A gift to buy for Larry's birthday. And unlike our little friend, I hadn’t yet decided what to pick.