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?”

“Yep.”

NewMeat leans in for a closer look at the fourteen faces crowded into the small frame. “How many?”

“Twelve kids.”

“That’s great. Which are you?”

“Third.”

“Where are you. . oh, there, I see.”