On fine family dining:
Despite all this, and in the face of grim experience, we try once a week to eat en famille.
"Yay! It's family dinner time!" the children cry.
My husband's shoulders immediately droop.
For Daddy, dining with the children is like being Howard Dean at a cocktail party for Campus Conservatives. He can scarcely speak, so great is the degree of his aesthetic suffering. Like many a clever wife before me, I see that Daddy had better get some fresh air, fast — ideally on his own and preferably in the Outer Hebrides.
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