Last night I went out to the garage to talk to my husband. From the deep, dark recesses of the garage, I hear, "My mom told me not to eat the yellow snow, but I didn't believe her. It tastes like lemonade."
I glance back, and see my roommate reclining in a lounging camp chair in the darkness. I shake my head and attempt to go back to my conversation with my husband.
"She also said not to eat the little brown pellets on the ground." He continued.
Giggling, I try to ignore him.
"They were crunchy."
I lost it.
This is the type of strangeness I deal with on a daily basis folks.
Ahem.... I guess I'm rubbing off...
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