Everyone likes a good mystery, don't you think? Even if it can't be solved, there seems to be a certain pleasure in the wondering. Perhaps that's why Big Foot, aliens, and the Loch Ness Monster appeal - not because we expect to find them, but because we like to wonder, to consider the intriguing possibility that there are mysteries out there. . .
So here's one: yesterday morning I took the kids to summer camp. My littlest pointed out footprints on the windshield, prints that belonged to either a child or a 'little person.' Now, we have plenty of children in our neighborhood and no little people (that I've seen, anyway) but all three of mine denied knowledge of the print-leaver. They said they hadn't done it, and didn't know who had. And because of the way the conversation unfolded, I believed them.
And for another reason: none of my kids has six toes.
That's right. One of the prints very clearly left six toe smudges. I didn't spot this until I was driving but the kids will back me up. Six toes on one of the feet, the left I think.
So what happened, somehow, was that during the night a six-toed person with tiny feet crept into my closed and locked garage and climbed onto my car for no apparent reason.
Henry suggested maybe the intruder had five toes and one shifted a bit, leaving an impression of six, but such practical-minded nonsense was dismissed by me and my two girls.
After all, in a world needing intriguing mysteries, six toes will always be better than five.