Granny's Girl

I went out to brunch today with my Mother and my Grandparents. It was a lovely sunny Sunday morning, and there was good food on the menu.
Mother and Grandpa fell to discussing a variety of lethal medical ailments. The conversation then turned to motor vehicle accidents,and the resulting grisly deaths.
My grandmother and I sought to be polite as possible under the circumstances, but what can one do? We managed to turn the conversation to doilies and the color pink. But it was a brief reprieve.
Shortly after brunch was served they lit upon the topic of Heinous Deaths in the Civil War. Was it from amputations or poor hygiene? Although I thought that we had reached the Ultimate in Unappetizing conversation, I was mistaken. Indeed, it had not occurred to me that The French Revolution had seasoned history with a variety of ways to die. Now I know better.
I am Granny's Girl. I like polite things...Well, mostly.
Growing up, my mother was known to dissect things at the dinner table. Eyeballs. Hearts. Truly! My step-father was an avid hunter, and we would eat wild things. Mother never was one to miss an educational opportunity. So, besides eating liver and tongue, we viewed the innards of the animals as well. I have plucked a goose and a duck for my dinner. How many girls have done that?
I am really not terribly squeamish, but there does seem to be a time and a place for such things.