The original plan was for Brandon's Aunt Nell to be there for Thanksgiving also. That way, they could share the criticism that would pour out of Dody's mouth like a plague of frogs. Dody, Brandon's grandmother and Nell's mother, had a Ph.D. in criticism, and not of the literary kind. When Nell was detained by work, it was too late for Brandon to cancel gracefully; the tickets had been purchased, and not by him.

So he flew to Kentucky--Kensucky, as he was in the habit of saying, when asked where he was going for Thanksgiving--to engage in a Herculean act of diplomacy. Never before had he faced the great critic alone; her attention was always split, and mercifully anybody female received more than her rightful share. His sister had more than once been reduced to tears by a detailed description of how stringy her hair was or how greasy her skin.

It was only natural that the airline lost his baggage. It was tempting to make his appearance in traveling clothes, not terribly crisp to begin with and now decorated with catsup from an airport hot dog. As clothing was a favorite target of Dody's, he decided rather to make a stop for new threads on the way to the retirement home. It was Thanksgiving Day, so only Wal-Mart was open, naturally. Fortunately, Dody's criticism was not hampered by such things as taste, and she was unlikely to complain about the clothes' quality.

As a result of this pit-stop, he arrived at her apartment slightly after his intended time. A note was waiting on the door for him: "Brandon: I am hungry and could not wait any longer. I am in the dining room, eating." He let himself in, changed into the starchy replacement clothes, and hurried downstairs, where she was waiting for him with folded arms. "You certainly have let yourself get plump." With that greeting, Brandon's need to lose weight became the topic for discussion on that first day of the visit.

On the second day--and it was a rule of thumb that no human could tolerate Dody for more than three days in a row--Brandon needed some way to keep her busy, some way other than conversation. He settled on baking, something at which he was good, and that seemed to pique Dody's interest. "I would love to have some little miniature muffins to serve when I have guests," she decided, and so the task was set forth. "But I forbid you to get anything from the store. Everything we need is right here, somewhere." This was a falsehood. For one thing, there was no sugar. Dody produced a jar filled with crisp, pink Sweet'N'Low packets. "Use these. There's a cup worth in here, I'm sure." No argument would be brooked, and permission to go buy some sugar was expressly not granted. "It tastes exactly like sugar," after all. This was another falsehood. The muffins tasted like a hospital floor, a fact that was blamed on the recipe, rather than on the substitution.

On the third day, The topic was Brandon's attire. Now that Brandon's bag had arrived via airport courier, the Wal-Mart clothes had been retired. His own, loose-fitting clothes were a manifest disgrace to America, so Grandmother and Grandson trundled off to a men's clothing store. This was a potentially dangerous endeavor, and Brandon wisely voiced no opinion throughout the process of selection. "I trust your taste, Grandmother." and "If you like it, then I like it." were to be the sum total of his opinions.

"Nothing with pinstripes," she commanded the tailor. "His father wears pinstripes, and they look so garish!" To Brandon she added, "I wish your father had nice, conservative taste like his father did." Brandon filed this away to relate to the rest of his family, who would instantly recall his grandfather's careless blending of plaids. As tempting as it would be to correct her, he continued his non-resistance strategy. He said nothing when she told the tailor that it was okay if the clothes were a little tight. "He's going to lose twenty-five pounds," she insisted. This statement, though not directed to Brandon, was clearly made for his benefit. To clarify, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and shook a reprimanding knuckle. Eventually, Dody became exasperated by Brandon's docility. "What do you think of this one!" she commanded, rather than asked, and added, "Do you even think at all?" This addition was a mistake on her part.

It was easy for Brandon to ignore most of Dody's comments. For one thing, there was some truth in them; had had grown plump, and he could conceivably dress with more care. For another thing, neither criticism was an assault on something Brandon cared much about. This last comment, however, "Do you even think at all?" went straight to his spleen.

"You know very well, I think more than most. Unlike some people, I know when to keep my opinions to myself," was his response. This reprimand seems subtle in print, but in the moment it was not. It was spoken both loudly and icily, and the subject was dropped. Dody signed the invoice silently, and arranged for the new clothes to be sent to Denver. They returned to the retirement home, and said farewells, each protesting how much they enjoyed the visit. Brandon mentally added, "Because it will be the last time I see you alive."

When the clothes arrived weeks later, they came with a note. "I decided that the clothes you had picked out were impractical, and took the liberty of ordering these instead. Merry Christmas, Grandmother Dody." The selection could easily have come from his dead grandfather's closet, save that they did not smell like mothballs. Brandon sent a lovely thank you note, along with best wishes for her health in the new year.