Flight of Fancy -- My Day as Sherlock Holmes

I have always been given to flights of fancy -- within an hour I have been a Sherpa in Nepal, a corpuscle in a trouble heart, a gargoyle on the west wall of Notre Dame -- and, in retirement, the opportunities to live inside my head have multiplied. And today, or at least part of the day, I was Sherlock Holmes. My objective: to observe the curious aspects of Max, my wife, to learn who she really be, what she's capable of, and why.

I started in the kitchen where I discovered the corpse of a Granny Smith apple, hacked to pieces, and a knife nearby. The scene played itself out in my head... the blade slashing through defenseless fruit. Sickening but elementary. 

The map on the table caught my eye -- she had circled London and Paris where she obviously had prepared her hideaways. A few inches to the side lay a travel brochure, apparently to distract my eyes from the map  It was an easy deduction: the murderous wench would be gone by end of day.

Twenty minutes later in her closet I discovered exactly 50 pairs of shoes -- not 49, not 51, but 50... precisely 100 shoes. "Oh my god," I said aloud. "The love of my life is a centipede."

"What did you say?" There she was, in the doorway holding the weapon that had mutilated that unfortunate apple. Her blank expression gave nothing away. She simply said, "I know that look. Who are you today?"

Rule number one when facing a felon with a knife: Don't agitate them. Tell the truth, which I did. "Sherlock Holmes, 221B Baker Street."

She nodded as if she knew more about my day than I did. "Well, Sherlock, Watson and I are about to have a little snack. Come and get it or fix your own."

Thus ended my day as Sherlock Holmes. The fruit and cheese were delicious.