Do you know me?
I got irked recently when my mother turned at the table and said, “I know you, Rachel.” She had just said I am easily repulsed. Which I don’t believe I am. “I know you,” she said, as if to imply, better than you know yourself. Since T had the fur covered peach slice incident at the ready, it was easy to concur. But honestly, one or two incidents does not make a label. In a…