My mom once confessed to us that she was somewhat uncomfortable sitting in a room with her back to a door. Indicative of a past life as gunslinger? Money owed to the mafia? A shady youth flush with gang violence?
Once upon a time, two lowly and wretched flower delivery boys thought of making the world a more sarcastically enlightened one. The wearisome and tedious everyday events that mortals see as pyrite the two boys see as plutonium.
And thus with blinding agility and unmatched chit, ...Oranges Before Carrots... was born.
Or maybe (and much more logically) she's afraid of being snuck up on and slapped in the back of the head with a dead fish.
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