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A “normal” conversation in my home

Listening to: Evanescence - The Open Door

Mood: Imaginative

This is an actual conversation that happened while the Hubs and I were running errands last weekend. It involves being stuck in traffic behind beat-up truck with its bed full of garbage bags:

Me: Do you think there are bodies in those bags?

Hubs: Um, what?

Me: Do you think that guy is, like, a serial killer driving around with the bodies of his victims in the back of his truck?

Hubs: No, I think he’s a gardener and those bags are full of grass and leaves.

Me: Leaves? Really? That seems a little too convenient.

Hubs: Riiiiight.

Me: Besides, he probably knows what he’s doing. I mean, no one would suspect a serial killer would cart the bodies of his victims around in the back of his truck all willy-nilly. They’d be like you, thinking he’s just a gardener.

Hubs: He is a gardener. It says it on the side of his truck. Also, he’s got a shovel and rake in the back. For gardening.

Me: And that’s proof he’s fooled you just like everyone else. The shovel’s for burying the bodies. The rake’s probably how he killed them. Duh.

Hubs: *shakes head* Your mind is a very twisted place.

Me: You call it twisted, I call it imagination.

And that, my friends, is probably why my Hubs wonders daily how he got so lucky as to marry a writer. Yay, totally. Lucky him. Or maybe lucky me that he hasn’t had me institutionalized yet…

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