A bad dog. A soiled waffle iron. The brisket carver roles his eyes at me, and I have to restrain myself not to smash the chocolate covered strawberries to pulp in front of him. There's a time for everything. The three kids are sitting together. I'm seeing them. This doesn't happen often. But there's something amiss, we are off key together as a chorus. A fractious family. This feeling is like a cloud of biting flies descending upon my head. It doesn't belong here now. I try different notes, seeking harmony.
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