Morning nosh

Ira and his son Jacob sat down for a morning nosh.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Jacob?”
“I just noticed how precise you are with putting schmear on your bagels.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I was watching you, and…”
“You’re not going to tell me something creepy like that time when you were a kid and kept a booger wall next to your bed, are you?”
“No, Dad.”
“Continue.”
At that point, Ira’s mother-in-law entered clutching a Benson and Hedges Mentol Extra Lite 100 caught like an animal in a steel trap of her wiry fingers.
“Good morning, bubbe.”
“Jacob! What are you doing up so early?”
“It’s nine am.”
“It’s Sunday. Normal kids sleep in on Sunday.”
“I was just explaining to Dad about how he is so precise and yet he never gets it in the hole.”
She ruffled his hair, looking at Ira, and said with a wicked archness, “The precision I can believe. But the rest? Obviously untrue, darling, since you are here as proof.”