As we all anxiously await the announcement of new restrictions this afternoon, let me lighten the mood a bit.

Remember those chewable Flintstones vitamins from when we were kids? Of course you do. Well, they were awful and I hated them. But 5-year old Aaron had a strategy.

I'd put the vitamin in my mouth, wait until no one was looking, then spit it into my hand and stick it in my pocket. Don't worry, it gets worse. After dinner, I'd ask to be excused, then race back to my bedroom. But what would I do with this slimy Barney Rubble?

Did I put it in the garbage can, like a normal person? OF COURSE NOT. I'd put it down my heating vent. I assumed that whatever existing behind those metal slits was a magical land where objects ceased to exist. Maybe the vitamin fairy would take them or something. Not my problem.

Well, it turns out that preschoolers aren't actually that sneaky. One night, dinner rolled around and my parents noticed that I didn't chew the pill. They followed me back to my room just in time to catch my deposit into our HVAC system.

They took the vent off, and discovered the remnants of several weeks worth of vitamins. It's been described to me as lumpy pile of malformed Flintstones characters, all stuck together like some sort of grotesque, body horror nightmare. Imagine H.P. Lovecraft meets Hanna-Barbera.

They never made me eat another Flintstones vitamin again. Also, kids are gross.