Excerpt:
Last Thanksgiving, right about the time that our family had finished scraping up the last of our triple fleet of pies (pecan, chocolate, and pumpkin) my mother pushed away from the table, dabbed her lips with a napkin and calmly made an announcement.
"I'm gettin' a tattoo," she said.
All of us froze. Most even stopped chewing, a testament to the gravity of the situation.
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