NewMeat comes in comes in to ask for data and he makes obligatory small talk about the holiday. I ask him:
“So, did you have the in-laws up for Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah. . . all of them. Her brothers and sisters and their kids. It was great birth control,” he says, with a laugh.
“Yeah,” I say. I grin, too, but I know what he just did.
He looks around. “Is this your family?”
NewMeat leans in for a closer look at the fourteen faces crowded into the small frame. “How many?”
“That’s great. Which are you?”
“Where are you. . oh, there, I see.”