If this story makes no sense, it's because we were delirious with excitement over the price of these carts.

Lisel was a handsome woman, albeit a terrible cook. When her father agreed to our marriage, it was on one condition: that I would never reveal my true distaste for the culinary atrocities she would soon impose upon me nightly.

You see, Lisel's mother had died when Lisel was quite young, and so she was never taught to cook properly. Still, as the woman of the house now, Lisel took it upon herself to provide sustenance for her father and four brothers who hadn't it in them to tell Lisel of their repulsion by her palate-assaulting concoctions. For they knew it would break her heart.

As a man of my word, I turned up nary a nostril nor eyebrow at even the most inedible of her creations. I would simply scrape the plate clean into a drawer of these Adeptus Rolling Carts when she wasn't looking, then pat my belly contentedly. When she had gone to bed for the evening, I'd devour the cakes and breads and pies I kept stashed in the other drawers.

This went on for years. The fatter I grew, the prouder she was. And we were happy. Then one day, she happened upon the cart I had foolishly forgotten to empty the evening before, the previous week's meals rotting and festering inside the drawers, though you wouldn't have known the difference.

That was the last time I saw my sweet Lisel. For she clutched tight to that Adeptus Rolling Cart and rolled herself right off a cliff.

So let that be a lesson to you, men. Never marry your sister. Oh. I didn't mention that part? Meh. It was the olden days. That kind of thing went down all the time.

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