Identical sick thoughts
Him: “Is this an outgoing box here on the front porch?”
Me: “Box? I didn’t see a box. You’d better bring it in.”
Him: “Okay.” (Various sounds of box opening.) “It’s a sweater. Without a card or anything. An anonymous sweater.”
Me: “Maybe it’s poisoned.”
Him (at the same time): “Didn’t Hercules once get an anonymous sweater…?”
What this says about us, I’m not at all sure I want to know.