Dena and I went with my cousin, Annie, to the midnight premier of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban last week. Afterwords, we were all a bit wired and decided to stop at Steak and Shake for some breakfast. It was 2:30am, after all.

We were too early for breakfast, so we ordered some dinner instead. I ordered a Frisco Melt and Dena got something with cheese fries (this is important to the story). After I finished my sandwich, I started picking at the cheese fries. At one point, I held up one cheese-smothered fry and thought, “I like cheese. Cheese is good. Cheese is to me like spinach to Popeye, and like twinkies to the neurotic Rifts character I played once, who gained his superpowers only by consuming the sponge-like treat en masse”. What I said, though, was quite different: “Cheese is my twinkie”.

The train of thought was perfectly logical but had absolutely no context to the discussion going on at the table. Annie and Dena both looked at me like I had turned into a rabid 7ft tall bunny rabbit. I can’t help it if they can’t follow my thought process. It made perfect sense to me.