IT'S ONLY A DREAM, PEOPLE.
So the other night I dreamt that I was in the garage looking for a suitable box that would be a good place for a severed head. (No, I don't have a severed head. I'm not actually sure where the head came from or why I had it. But I digress...) There I am in the garage, looking for a box for my head (well, not my head, but the head that was formerly someone else's head) and I look out the window and see people rummaging through Aaron's car. I decide the best course of action would be to go and tell him, because I am a weenie and do not deal with hooligans even in my dreams. And on my way to the bedroom to wake him up (because the best time to search for a box for your extra head is while your loved ones sleep) the hooligans burst into the house! And I panic because these aren't average hooligans--these are crazy knife-throwing hooligans.
That's where I panic. At the knife throwing bit. Not at the severed head bit, even though I firmly believe that the human body is not meant to be headless. I, she who gags at the surgery shows on TV and nearly passes out when she injures herself enough to bleed, am apparently much more concerned about knife-throwing hooligans than the intricacies of extra head ownership.
And that's how I know that IT'S ONLY A DREAM, PEOPLE.
Also, we don't have a garage.