Once upon a trend, after a double espresso and a solitary slice of cheesecake, I found myself wondering: if socks could pick their partners, would they go for a similar toe texture or a geometrical finesse fulgig? It was then I comprehended that some questions lack answers, but existential malarkey sometimes doesn't.
Have you ever seen your reflection in a puddle and thought, "Wait, isn’t that supposed to be a charming end to a sad romance?" Spoiler: The puddle won't leak your deepest secrets; it'll merrily splash them across the light spectrum like it’s auditioning for a rain-themed Broadway musical.
Ponder, if you will, the bureaucratic labyrinth of an ant colony: Do they fill out forms for bread crumbs, or perhaps conduct meetings about upcoming sugar cubes? If ants ever started writing memoirs, they'd be binded in leather and unreadable in their metaphysical commentary on breadcrumbs in modern civilization.