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I almost never check work email on a Saturday, but I must have known deep down that a sitcom script had just landed. Picture me opening "Holiday Pet Peeve Public Service Announcement" over coffee and becoming glued to my phone like I was watching John McClane save Nakatomi Plaza.

A reader wrote in about his friends and their icky habit. The reader asked me to "help save a long-term friendship" by slipping the topic into a column -- "10 behaviors to avoid at Thanksgiving," maybe. He could show them the column, like, "Haha, did you see this?" in hopes they might get the hint.

While I think this reader has a bright future as an assignment editor, this approach assumes a level of self-awareness his friends may not have. And as Kierkegaard or Bruce Willis said, life is not a problem to be solved but a reality to be experienced.

Here's an excerpt (anonymous, because we are trying to save the friendship, not implode it):

"Our very best friends of over 30 years love to entertain. ... I avoid the kitchen while they are plating the food. I can't bear to watch. Every time they put some food on a plate with their bare hands, they get a little food on their fingers and then wash it off by licking them. ... When the husband carves a turkey, he really goes to town licking his fingers each time he touches a piece of meat.

"I go into a different room to avoid watching the finger-licking, but I can still hear them loudly smacking their lips every time they lick their fingers. ... Between every piece of pie or cake placed on a plate. Smack. Between every scoop of ice cream pushed off the spoon with a bare thumb."

The couple would be horrified to realize they do this, he said, praising their immaculate home. They'd be horrified if they saw anyone else do it. Yet they remain unaware of their own spitty transgression.

I shot up and urgently read this email to my family. Then I shared it with a few friends.

"I am unwell," said one.

"I would absolutely tell both of you to stop licking," said another.

"This is like an episode of 'Seinfeld,'" said another.

At lunch with my husband, I asked for his take. He leaned forward professorially with an open palm.

"The key to all that is you've got to just be honest with them," he said. "Rupert, Leroy, please stop licking your fingers. Because while we've been friends for 30 years, I would not give you an open-mouth kiss." Then he said, "You gonna eat that?" and took the last fry.

Being honest with cherished friends sounds simple, but in practice it's anything but. We all know some otherwise lovely person with an odd tic -- throat-clearing, one-upping, repeating stories, ending every sentence with, "OK?" Those quirks don't spread novel coronavirus, though.

Still, as a naturally conflict-avoidant (cradle Catholic) person, I quickly started talking myself into the "let it go" argument.

Is a storied friendship worth jeopardizing over a little grief to the gut biome? Risk, like love, is all around! What happens behind the scenes in a restaurant? Can we ever fully know what we're consuming? How many spiders do we swallow in our sleep?

On the other hand, their friendship could be so much deeper if they went there. Once both parties make it past the initial shock, they can laugh about this gaffe for 30 more years as the hosts performatively wear nitrile polymer gloves while plating macarons.

I've landed nowhere except this:

Take this column to Thanksgiving dinner. Offer the licking question as a near-perfect conversation pivot when talk turns to the Epstein files. And if you are on the receiving end of this icebreaker and notice your fingers are moist, take a hard look inward. Maybe your friend just got through to you after all.

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Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephhayes on X or @stephrhayes on Instagram.

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