A dear friend of mine dreads the annual Thanksgiving pilgrimage to her mother-in-law’s house. She loathes everything from the five-hour car ride to the over-the-top seasonal decor. “I can’t turn around without knocking some gourd off its perch,” she says. But her biggest grievance is the decade of unsolicited, awkward — and, she feels, often inappropriate — advice that comes with the visit.
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