When it happens in your house — or at your dinner table — that is an emotionally fraught moment. A number of years ago, when my wife and I were working on having a baby, she invited an old friend of hers to dinner who was visiting from Wales. This was at our home. She was quite old, but my wife had known her for years. When we explained that I wouldn’t be drinking wine because we thought I might be pregnant, she began to inform us that “children like that” would only grow up to have lots of problems and generally be, I dunno, some sort of plague on society? She was so incredibly rude that it stunned us both. In hindsight, we should have called her a cab right then and sent her packing. We didn’t. We challenged her views and continued to serve her dinner, almost as though the whole unpleasant conversation didn’t happen. I’m not proud of this, but there is a saving grace. When my wife gets upset, her stomach gets upset. In the middle of dinner, she let out this incredibly loud fart. Miss Priss was not amused, but we sure were.

Writer, painter, cat fancier, troublemaker, democratic socialist, & antifascist.

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