Head Scratching

...it's a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in bacon...mmmmmmm....


It is a puzzle: I wondered last week how K, of Publication DQ, got my telephone number in order to phone me for permission to yadda yadda yadda one of my poems.

I am at CAC and I mention that K of Publication DQ called me. “Oh, is that who that was?” the Prince asks absently. “I wondered.”

(And now I know why he said “You’re trying to compute ratios in your head? Hah! Poet, playwright, writer, sure.....math skills? Hah!” At the time, I wondered what would make him put ‘poet’ first.)

“Yeah,” says BirthdayBoy. “It was Publication DQ. I thought I told you.”

He called here? Why did he do that? He called my cell phone.

“I know. I was the one who gave him your number. I told him to tell you that it was me that gave it to him, so you wouldn’t wonder. Of course, he didn’t. Figures.”

Okay, so that explains how K got my phone number. Next question: Why did K call here? How did looking for me lead him to you?

“Well, not me personally, Cyb. Just...”

...I know, the Center. But...oh, this is freaking me out.

“So did they run it?”

No. Or at least, not yet.

Also putting a twist in my tights? Christmas lights. Look here, folks: I’m all for festivity and shit, but put a lid on it, willya? Day after Thanksgiving’s soon enough, mmkay? Those of you who were out last weekend decorating, I respectfully suggest that you Get A Life.

Admittedly, I'm participating in the earlification of Christmas myself, by virtue of being in a Murder Mystery on Saturday, December 3, but I have an excuse: I co-wrote it.

You're invited- no beret required.