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“Did you wash your hands?” his mother asks as they sit down for dinner.

“Yes,” he says and looks her straight in the eyes to emphasize his answer. He knows it is crucial to back his statement up with credibility. His mother is like a bloodhound. She can smell offspring lying about two miles away. Once he had a friend over who claimed to be an orphan raised by wolves, and his mother immediately called the friend’s parents and told them. So embarrassing. And it is true. He did wash his hands. With soap and everything. Two days ago.


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