Monday, January 11, 2010

The Mystery of the Missing Toilet Paper, with apologies to Jezamama

 When I was in 4th grade, the prevailing achievement, at least for us girls, was to read every volume in the Nancy Drew mystery series.  I thrilled at each adventure that found Nancy at the mercy of a riddle, from The Secret of the Old Clock(the very first book) to The Clue in the Old Stagecoach.(the last one I read, not the last of the series.)

There were more, and all sorts of contemporary spin offs, but I loved the old dust jacketed blue books about a fearless young girl whose curiosity and concern led her through danger and dilemma to success and solution.  All done without a hint of impropriety.

And so, when my dear friend Jezamama recently posted about the mysterious disappearance of a rather large quantity of toilet paper, I dusted off my old Nancy Drew magnifying glass, hopped in our blue Taurus (sadly, they no longer make roadsters) and was on the case.

Imagine my surprise and chagrin when I finally located the perp.  Actually, I stumbled upon it quite accidentally.  We were in North Carolina celebrating Christmas with our family and the Sprittles when I cast my glance upon the stairs where I espied this:


We immediately rounded up all the usual suspects.   Baby Blues (aka Colonel Mustard) was the first to be excused.  How could HE do anything that heinous?  Just look at those baby blues, that dirty face, that soulful stare...

baby blues

Next, we questioned Boo, but he had an alibi.  He had been sitting at the kitchen table with me, eating Christmas cookies.


 Boo does love his Christmas cookies!

That led us to (dun dun duh!) the real culprit, Bee.  Under the weight of all 16 layers of Lipsmackers,  her mouth struggled to deny the deed.  And she asked for her lawyer.


But the evidence was overwhelming.  Besides, only a guilty 3 year old asks for a lawyer.


And it was HER doll.  Her fingerprints were all over the crime scene.

So this grandmother offers her apologies to Jezamama for the missing toilet paper.

And a Scott tissue coupon or two.

I can't help but feel that somewhere, in River Heights, an aging, octogenarian girl sleuth is smiling.  Happy 80th, Nancy!