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Walpole | Nov 15 2002

Yesterday I had no tolerance for Hazel. I thought, Why am I in this fucking Friendly’s? I hate Friendly’s! I hate Friendly’s and I’m fucking eating at Friendly’s and I hate it! Not only does she have to go to Friendly’s, but she has to go to the fucking Walpole Friendly’s! She knows all these different Friendly’s and she always wants to go to one that’s thirty miles away. So I try to remind myself that this is about expanding our time together so that she can feel we’ve had a real visit. Normally I think, So what? So what if I have to go Friendly’s in Walpole when I can go to Friendly’s in West Roxbury that serves the same disgusting food? So what? It makes her happy if we drive to the Friendly’s in Walpole, it makes her feel like she’s had an outing. Okay, fine, I’m going to be eighty-eight some day and I’m going to want an outing too. Fine. But yesterday I couldn’t take it. I said, “Hazel, we’re not going to Walpole. There’s no way we’re going to Walpole.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of going to Walpole,” she says. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Why do you even say that?”