According to my calculations, this was approximately the fiftieth holiday potluck I’d attended this year, but I wasn’t complaining, nor was my belly. If my brothers and I didn’t show our faces at Mama’s annual Christmas party, she’d have our heads, finishing us off in her typical classy fashion, probably by tanning our hides and making an overstuffed ottoman out of us both. That way, she could remind us who was boss while taking a load off her “tootsies” and devouring her latest trashy romance. The fresh addition would go well in this tastefully appointed living room with burl coffee tables in modern, clean-lined silhouettes; an oyster-colored linen sectional was currently filled with guests whose homes were deliberately decorated to hide country dirt, rather than giving it the middle fing
