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Cranberries are gross. Though I hate all fruit, my animosity towards carnberries began one Christmas eve. My desperado housewife of a Mom had me show off my creative powress by setting the table in "an artful manner". After my job was done, she saw me liunging about and handed me a classic Villeroy & Boch, teeming with cranberries. In the dim, ambiantic candlelight I could see them gloating in their sticky sweetness. They then excersised their egos and spilt on my white dress and the white tablecloth. eww gross. Of course, being Mom's favorite, I was blamed and they were spared and early death.
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I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
T.S Eliot, "Preludes"