Running with Scissors

Wrapping gifts Christmas Eve, the husband (who had been watching westerns all afternoon) starts to twirl the scissors in his hand like a gunslinger.

Naturally, the scissors slip.
They fly across the ribbons and bows and finally stab a sheet of wrapping paper.

He immediately turns to me. "You should never let me have sharp things," he says.

I reply, "That's why I let you keep your wit."