, my best friend
and I were all sitting in my room. Something about someone trying to kill
us... we weren't sure who, and then we realized that it was the nice old grandmotherly
lady down the street who would always bake us pies
. We knew we needed to get out of the house, since she was sitting in my closet, waiting to ambush us. The closet door opens...
And I'm reading it all out of a book, a manual
telling me how to flee from psycho old ladies
. Especially shape-shifting
ones who are good at taking on the identity of the people in the room. Cheli and I run downstairs, followed by my sister, and we all decide that if we go out to get the turkey for Thanksgiving dinner
, we'll all be safe. My sister stops in the kitchen though, claims she needs milk
, since she's pregnant and all. She's taking forever, and I
certainly don't want to get killed because she can't down that freakin glass of milk. "Suzette Marie Palmer!" I scream, stamping my foot. "You're in the barbecue now!
" She turns to me, milk sliding down her chin, eyes evil, a huge smile on her face. "Candy?
" she asks. "Or cookies?
Umm... it seemed to make sense in my head at the time I was having it...