Just Tell Me!
Here's a little pet peeve.
Have you ever gone somewhere and been interacting with others for a while, only to go into the bathroom and learn that you have some nasty piece of half-eaten food stuck somewhere in your teeth? Smile!
Happens to me all the time!
Come one, people. If I have half a picnic stuck in my teeth, tell me! How else am I supposed fix the problem? Instead, you like to ignore the whole thing, silently thinking, "He has almost a whole picnic stuck in his teeth!" the entire time.
Some of us are genetically prone to what I am dubbing "picnic tooth." It's not our fault! I'm sure we could get government protection as a disability class. I could probably even get a handicapped parking placard, a special box to check when I do my taxes, and certainly a discount on my hefty medical premiums for the whole thing.
My only saving grace is that I work from home and rarely actually interact with real people!
(The humor is magnified due to your fly being down...)