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If you think that at ten years old you know how to do badmothers handbook things better than me — and I'm thirty-five, I think I have a bit of wisdom — well, then you're going to learn things the hard way too." Sometimes I would get stubborn with my mother, badmothers handbook and this was one of those times. "I'm okay," I said. "Use ... your badmothers handbook ... knife," she growled, trembling with fury. I continued to refuse blandly. She got up and came around the table. Instead of just grabbing my knife and getting my ketchup out the way she wanted, she grabbed both of my hands and made me get the ketchup out with my knife. I was sort of fighting her, but not much — I didn't want to make a scene. Still, because she was shaking so badly, it was difficult for her to maneuver, and it took a long time. She was hissing things at me the whole time: threats, complaints, descriptions of my soul. I happened to look up and see another diner stare straight into my eyes with pity.
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