So I’m sitting at the Thanksgiving dinner table talking to my Mom. She mentions the play she saw the previous Sunday. She comes up to see plays at the Arena stage with her friends, and I meet her for lunch beforehand. There is much lamenting at the end of lunch that I don’t then join them all for the play, but I’ve been to a couple plays at the Arena and they didn’t impress. But that’s not what I’m trying to explain here.
The play is apparently much ado about truth and honesty, which brings my mother to the question of “What would you do if the gestapo came to your door while you were hiding Anne Frank in your attic?” I hate that question.
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