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A small crash and muttered annoyance drew me to the kitchen, where my wife was on her hands and knees surrounded by the scattered contents of a box of cocktail sticks.

Me: Can I help?

Wife:

Me: This reminds me of a game we used to play when the girls were little. Dropped a pile of sticks on the floor and had to pick them up one-by-one, or something.

Wife:

Me: What was it called?

Impressed at how sincerely the words "pick up sticks" can impart the message "Fuck off and leave me alone."