they are sitting on each side of the room, both reading. She looks up, "Fred, what's a fawkes pass?"
"A what!? Show me."
She shows him the book.
"That's 'faux pas'. It's French. It means false move. A social solecism."
"A what?"
"Look, cast your mind back to when we were first married. You remember when we were on honeymoon and we stayed with your parents?"
"Yeah. You were ever so romantic then. I remember you picked me a rose in the garden and said it was almost as beautiful as me."
"Right. And remember how I pricked my finger on the rose bush- and what a fuss you made- getting iodine and band aids and that?"
"Yes; it was bleeding."
"Well, you remember the next morning at breakfast you said to me "How's your little sore prick this morning?" and your Mother dropped the teapot and your Father choked on his toast? Well that's a Faux Pas!"