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Being the Jewish white trash that I am, I was taken aback when we checked into our fancy schmancy hotel on Sunday and as we were unpacking, a porter arrived with a fruit plate.

"Oh, we didn't order anything," I said nervously and naively when I saw he was giving us something.

"It is compliments," the porter said. I think he wanted to pat me on the head.

"Grazie!" I exclaimed as he set the fruit down on our little table.

Generally, I don't get free anything when I stay in hotels, but I guess Husband has been here a few times, so that's how it goes. (Don't ask how much internet access is, though.) Husband eyed it for a second.

"Why does it have a fucked up tomato?" he asked.

"That," I said as knowledgably as possible, "is not a fucked up tomato. It is a persimmons." I felt very cultured.

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