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My mother shifted in brothersister her seat and winced. "What?" I asked. She shrugged her shoulders and brothersister gave me one of brothersister her little coy smiles. "No. What?" I pressed, sure that she definitely had something to say about the meal I had spent hours preparing. "Well, Sweetie, isn't this a little fancy? I mean, it's not like the Shah of Iran is coming for dinner, or is he?" she giggled. My face dropped and I began grinding my teeth. "I'm just going to get up and make myself a simple little something," she drawled as she began opening a can of tuna. A second later she dipped a spoon into the five-pound jar of mayonnaise, swirled it into the lumpy fish once or twice, and then dropped it onto the nice clean counter. I knew we were in for it. The Chinese man I had dated once told me, in between slugs of Geritol, that the Chinese character for war was made up of two separate symbols.
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