We're sitting around the table at Dudley's, a cajun restaurant in Longview. Me, Marci and the kids, along with Marci's mother, Marci's sister Kylee and her son Caidin, and the Marci's grandmother.
Ross has returned from an overnight stay with his friend who lives out in the country and is creeping the rest of us out with his tales of giant yellow-and-white banana spiders out in the fields.
"Ross," I say, noting the looks of veiled horror around the table. "This is not appropriate talk for the table."
"Okay." But within a few minutes, it became clear that the giant spiders was his only conversational gambit, and again he started up with, "We found this big spider and--"
Eating at a cajun restaurant, it's best to just enjoy the food, IMO, and not consider its provenance. Conversation regarding spiders interferes with the willing suspension of disbelief.
I give him the firm, "ROSS." Follow it up with a stern look. He turns back to his chicken strips. Finally after a couple of minutes, he leans over to Marci and says:
"Do you think I could talk about them if I called them 'arachnids'?"