Perhaps Orson had been right to tell you his mother was senile, better off in the nursing home. Lying was wrong, but surely this was worse.

"Poached fish again? I don't want this. I want what you're all having!"

Gloria declared stubbornly over dinner. Again. She was met with a sigh from across the table.

"Your doctor has you on a low fat low sodium diet. Eight meals this week, eight times I've told you the same thing."

Gloria seemed to be placated for a moment. Her volunteering to say grace should've raised alarm bells.

"Dear Lord, I thank you for this bland, indifferently prepared meal and beseech you to ignite some spark of compassion in my sons cold-hearted partner, that some shred of mercy may be shown to me, the wretched captive."