At the theater - it's time for counterattack

This time I rebelled.

Even if it meant appearing rude? Yes.

This time.
I.
Rebelled.

An evening at the theater. As is traditional for the curse that I evidently carry with me, in the row behind me there was a lady in her 70s who, for *several minutes*, picked her teeth with a toothpick, making a “s-ciuc, s-cìc” sound every damn time.
During those minutes, I turned around several times to look at her, and she clearly saw it.
At one point, I turned around again, gestured to her, and she approached me, already frowning, and I said, “Ma'am, believe me, you've got everything out.” She looked at me angrily and hissed, “Look at yourself.” I turnd around and heard her whisper something to her husband like, “This moron told me to stop,” but then she actually stopped.

Just so you know, you damn noise makers, the party's over.
It's time for a counterattack.