SAINT PAUL, MN -- Greg Smith stares out into the rain as his coffee grows cold, trapped in the midst of an existential crisis. At dinner last night, for the umpteenth time, he and his familiy’s server came up and asked how everyone enjoyed their meal; and, for the umpteenth time, Greg involuntarily blurted out “I hated it.” No one laughed. No one even batted an eye. Greg sat in the silence, as a creeping thought slowly dawned on him: “Did I really hate it?” Since then, Mr. Smith has been racking his brain in search of an instance when he didn’t respond with that seemingly hilarious response. 

	“Every time I go out, I finish everything on my plate,” Greg, slowly stirring his “World’s Greatest Dad” mug, pondered. “I always thought that I was kidding when I told people I hated my meal, the plate’s empty after all. Now I’m not so sure. If it is a joke, why does no one laugh at it? My steak jokes always bring down the house, that’s a rare medium well done, but maybe I’ve been living a lie. Maybe I haven’t known what I like for a long time. This idea running through my head is harder to put down than the book on anti-gravity I was reading.”
      
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