THE PERFECT CRUNCH

When I frequented the movies back in the day when popcorn cost a quarter, I loved to watch the reaction. You know what I mean. At just the right moment. At just the point when the buyer took a bite and got a popcorn hull stuck in his teeth.

Because, as you know, you've got to get it out. Right then. And if he's with a date, how cool can he be if he's digging a finger in his mouth trying to dislodge the hull? All the squishing, which is equally difficult to do without drawing attention, is not going to hack it. I've even had them lodged there where brushing and flossing can't bring relief. Then, cruelly, the next morning I've awakened to the hull being on the tip of my tongue.

So determined to free the hull, I've even bled and not been able to remove it. Popcorn hulls are a lot like my dogs of days gone by. They would come to me only when they wanted, and the hulls would come out only when they tired of being there.

With that said, I'm going to have a little Orville Redenbacker this afternoon as I watch the NFL playoffs. And if New England beats San Diego, I may just try to get several popcorn hulls in my gums. The pain couldn't be any worse.