Dirty Samosas

This afternoon I watched as M. walked casually around the house and yard with a toothpick she had gotten out of our neighbor's car when they came for a short visit. I was intrigued by what she wanted to poke. First it was a sword coming for my eye, but I told her to knock it off and she moved on to other victims. I saw the sliding door screen and the deck get some pokes. I was sure she was off to find the cat next. A good ten or fifteen minutes has gone by and she was mysteriously quiet inside. I jumped up because that is always trouble.
In the kitchen stabbing away at my freshly baked samosas I had spent the afternoon making, there she was, toothpick in hand.
I went outside to vent to my husband who was working on putting M's new swing set together.

"I am so frustrated right now at M. She just put toothpick holes in my samosas"

"So what?"

"She has been carrying around that dirty toothpick poking things, and now that is in my samosas"

"I don't care where the toothpick has been. I will eat those"

"You will eat the dirty samosas?"

"Yes!! I will eat the dirty samosas! Who cares about that anyhow??"

Oh. Ok. You eat those then. Enjoy your dinner.
I ate the ones without the holes.
M. on the other hand made sure to request a samosa without holes too. She was very specific about it. "Mama. No holes. Ok? No holes for me."