We watched a film based on a true story about some people that survived a plane crash in the middle of winter up high on some mountains and they were stranded with no food and water so they had to resort to cannibalism and eat whoever was the first to die. My sister was indignant about the whole affair. “I would never do that,” she self-righteously sniffed. Her poetic sensibilities were ruffled. Cannibalism didn’t fit into her romantic view of the world. “I wouldn’t,” my sister said again, as though repeating the claim made it truer. “I’d just lie down quietly in the snow, fold my arms across my heart and close my eyes for good.” “Oh please, no you wouldn’t!” I exploded. “You’d be the first to eat us all. In fact I’m surprised you’re not gnawing on my arm right now.”