You had become friends with Andrew, being his only neighbor for miles around. He was odd, some said, and thhere was even talk of his mother being a witch. Regardless, he was a very nice man, and his looks werent half bad, it was admitted.

"I am frightened, very, very frightened," he announced one evening, setting his guitar down and moving into the kitchen, putting the kettle on.

"I'm a widow magnet now, I suppose. They've been casting sheep's eyes at me every time I go to the village. And I swear to you, there are more every time I go. How many widows does one village need? What job do these men have that gets them in the ground so quickly?"

It was kind of funny seeing such a tall man flutter around the kitchen, the perfect image of domesticity.

"I mean, I'm almost forty. I've gone many, many years without a wife, what makes them think I want one now?" He continued to rant, popping open a canister of tea leaves and blinking slowly in annoyance as he fished out a packet of silica gel.

"You know, back in my time, we didn't have these. I don't even know what they do. Get out of here with your quotations, Silica Gel. All 'do not eat.' If they really meant it, they would've printed it in red, I do think. Quiet, Silica Gel, can I eat you or not?"