"Milk" reminded me: When I was about 8 years old, my mother found my sister and me a babysitter: a pair of "old people" with a small white dog that did tricks. I didnt like these people; I was very suspicious of them, in fact.
One day, one of them had put out a snack for us. Something chocolately. My younger sister grabbed at one immediately upon seeing it. "No!" I shouted in a whisper- my raspy kid voice low. "Why not?" my sister asked, ripping open the package. "It might be poisoned!" I whispered again. I asked my sister today if she remembers this and she said "Yes. It must not have been poisoned because I'm still alive."
To this day the thought of that couple still weirds me out and I wouldnt eat their snacks- or let my sister eat them- if they ressurected and handed them to us.
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