
my family is funny. when we get interested in something, we go all out. my parents and i would rush home and frantically cook dinner so we could dine per bellum. the war marathon became an excuse to trot out the southern accents in their full glory-- a lot of "mutheh deahs" and "wawah" talk. apparently we're related by marriage to the infamously incapable george mcclellan. thus, every time his wife was mentioned, knowing smiles flashed about the room. unlike the starvation scenes in gone with the wind, during which i've always refrained from eating out of sympathy for scarlett having to choke down that nasty beet, this go-around with the war prompted no such abstention-- despite horrifying tales of cornpone and tar biscuits. there we were watching gruesome pictures of corpses on the battlefields while chowing down on salads and brownies. one night my mum brought out a candle while my father made popcorn. the juxtoposition was disturbing and yet hysterical and incredibly typical of my family. we're class. we take our carnage by candlelight.
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