I'm 13 years old, visiting my grandparents, and we're all sitting down to lunch. Today, we're having stew. My uncles are here, my parents, one of my cousins. It is familial bonding at its best: over food. My plate gets passed up the table to my grandmother, who takes it, looks at me, then turns around and fills it with something from behind her. As she passes it back to me she says: "I'm giving you salad because you're getting too fat." My whole family snort into their stew, giggling, bar my mum who pats my arm reassuringly and makes defensive noises.
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