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So there I was on a perfectly ordinary Saturday, down on my hands and knees, trying to fish a rogue LEGO brick out from under a decrepit shelf. (And yes, I still step on them—some pains never fade.) As I peered into the dusty shadows, I spotted something. Lumpy. Sticky-looking. Kind of… crunchy?
My first thought: Great, a dead mouse.
But to my surprise, it was something far stranger. It was old Floam.
Because apparently, discovering decades-old toy goo is exactly what you want to deal with before your morning coffee.
I prodded it with the end of a pencil (standard investigative procedure) and it didn't budge. Thank God. But it also didn't really resemble anything living. It was this strange, lumpy mass with what looked like tiny seeds or beads fused all over it. Part moldy, part mystery. I half-expected to find a note from a raccoon that read, "Thanks for the snack storage."
But no—after about thirty seconds of bewilderment and one cautious sniff of something vaguely plasticky, I knew.
I was holding ancient Floam.
Wait—Remember Floam?
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