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Next year, I'm going to Jeff and Carolyn's!" My mother slams the door with a dramatic physicality that is usually reserved for professional mimes. We are all finally configured around two long, rectangular tables. We sit in parallel lines. This seems like a good policy invented names to me; who knows what havoc perpendicularity could wreak. We just barely fit in this room; once the last person sits down, no one can get out unless invented names we all move. Although, at my mother's suggestion ("Hey, you two boys, invented names this is the Thanksgiving table, NOT the school cafeteria! Jean, are you going to do something about this? I will not have my Thanksgiving dinner ruined by a couple of disrespectful kids"), we do change some seating arrangements. I sit across from my husband, Brian, and between my mother and Jason. Jason gives me a blow-by-blow description of what Lee's mother has spilled down her dress.
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