I have two snowballs in my freezer.
They were put there by two monsters.
Two monsters who tromped around our street today, smashing piles of slushy snow with carefully placed feet.
Two monsters who lifted clumps of snow over their heads and dropped them ruthlessly on the ground.
Two monsters who packed balls of snow together and laughed as they launched them toward each other. (Ignore the fact that the snowballs rarely made it more than a couple of feet in front of the thrower.)
Two monsters who . . . were cold and wanted their gloves attached to their coats, like their baby sister’s were. And did they really have to go to the laundromat again? Also, why can’t they take their snowballs into the apartment? And they really don’t want to go to the laundromat again. And where are their gloves? And can I hold this snowball for them? And can I get the snow out of this boot? And how long is it going to take us to do the laundry? And . . . and . . . and . . .