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In July 1993, after attending two weddings one week and about a thousand miles apart, my wife and I routed ourselves through Niagara Falls on our way home. We had dinner at the Table Rock restaurant on the Canadian side, where I followed the counsel of one of my college professors and tried to appear Canadian by ordering a Labatt instead of a Molson. Even if the restaurant staff was fooled, the gift shop workers downstairs were undoubtedly on to me when I picked up this mug. We went back there 20 years later — with our kids this time — and, not surprisingly, they no longer stocked my old souvenir.

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