Fawnapril just went out the door on her way to work. She came in seconds later, asking, "Why are there Swedish meatballs in my car?"
Several seconds of shocked silence -- I had the car last night, but as far as she knows, I don't eat meat, in balls or otherwise. DO I? DO I? And is that a blonde hair on your collar, dear?
And then I remember: I gave a classmate a ride home after our calculus final last night. He must've forgotten to take his big balls o' meat when I dropped him off.