Last night was a surprise party for our Pastor's 40th birthday... picture if you will this scene:
One of the arriving guests presents the pastor with a red and pink pin shaped like a pair of lips that declares "Kiss Me, I'm 40!"... the only person who takes him up on it is a 60-ish gentleman with a quiet, wry sense of humor. This story makes the rounds of the invited guests, with much laughter.
After the gift exchange, the guests are scattered about the house chattering and partaking in birthday cake, when one of them (a tall, solidly built black guy with a bubbling, joyful personality) begins coughing after inhaling a bite of cake. Ray, the kisser from earlier, is standing nearby, and his wife cracks a joke about Ray having to perform CPR.
John, a wiry Italian with a deadly-quick wit and the reputation of being quite a ham, quips "I can't even spell it!"
My Hubby-head, no stranger to the label of "ham" himself, informs Ray that CPR normally should not involve tongue. There is some elaboration on that point from all involved in this conversation... and then my dear, sweet Hubby looks at me and says "I'll only use my tongue when giving you CPR honey... and maybe John."
John, looking straight ahead, does not appear to have been listening... but then after a long pause, we hear: "If I'm that close to heaven, man, just let me go!"