It’s Like Riding a Bicycle. You Never Forget.

“Need a fork?” Jane smirked. She already had her chopsticks out, though she hadn’t scooped up any of the stir-fry yet.

“No! No, I’m good.” Marge took her chopstick out of the little restaurant wrapper and tried to remember how you hold them.

“I bet you can’t do this.” Jane reached out with her chopsticks, aiming at a pop bottle. She had almost lifted it when the bottle fell over, sending a cascade of bubbles over the table, and one of the chopstick flying to a neighboring table.

“You’re right,” Marge said around a grin. “There’s no way I could do that.”

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