Cheese is beloved of mice and men, but it was gone. I was dozing at my desk -- call it sleep -- when Emma walked in, spun me around in my chair and shouted, "Who moved the cheese?", then poured iced coffee over my head. It was the awakening from hell, but when I opened my eyes I felt as if an angel in heaven had painted the portrait of a lady for me alone to gaze upon. "Put that tongue back in your head," she said. "There's been a crime, and punishment must be administered."
I searched from here to eternity, but I never found the guilty mouse. It was my only unsolved case. Years later, the phone rang. It was Emma. "Just thought you'd like to know. No one moved the cheese. I completely forgot . . . I had it for lunch."
It only hurts when I laugh.
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