I’ve been told that I’m a logical person.  Not by my husband, of course, but others have said so.  Most importantly, the quiz I took on blogthings said I was.  Of course, that quiz I took yesterday told me I’d paid attention to 100 percent of high school.  (Notice how there weren’t any questions about gym class on that quiz?)  But that’s beside the point.  The point is, I think I’m a fairly logical person.  Or I did think so.  Until I got addicted to logic puzzles.

This all started innocently enough.  I started doing that stupid Jumble in the newspaper.  Then I started doing the cryptograms in the Games magazine.  Then I started doing the crossword puzzles.  First just the easy ones.  Then the harder ones.  Then the World’s Most Ornery ones.  Then the diagramless ones.  When I had done all the pencil puzzles in all the Games magazines and all the Dell magazines, I had no choice but to move on to the logic puzzles.  For some reason they seemed more fulfilling than Sudoku, which is like crack cocaine only without any of the benefits.  Anyway, I was doing the logic puzzles, and I was getting the hang of them, but then I ran into a brick wall with the puzzle about the horses.  You see, there were five stalls at the Hi-Ho Horse Ranch that held five different colors of American quarter horses.  Mitch was in charge of their care.  He walked them daily on uniquely colored leads to the exercise corral, and–you don’t really care, do you?  Neither do I, but I didn’t think it would be that difficult to figure out each horse’s name, color, gender, stall, and lead color and the order in which Mitch walked them because, you know, I’m logical.  Blogthings told me so.  That’s how I came to spend six hours trying to figure out if Plato was the brown female horse and whether Astro was the palomino or the blue roan.  I thought Lucky was the blue roan on the green lead and Trigger was the gray male horse on the orange lead, but it turned out that that was impossible.  You don’t know how frustrating that was.  I decided I needed to just give up on the stupid horses and get on with my life.

Because there are more important things to figure out.  Like who won the top five prizes in the Nuts About Chocolate contest.  See, Lou and four others submitted the five winning entries (one was a decadent chocolate mousse and one contained walnuts).  Each contestant hailed from a different neighboring town.  It really shouldn’t have been all that difficult to determine the contestants’ full names, entries, nuts used and hometowns, because I am such a logical person.  But as I was trying to figure this stuff out, I found myself entertaining all kinds of extraneous theories, none of which was supported by the data in the problem itself.  Like, why wouldn’t Bob have the last name Lombard, because “Bob Lombard” is such a nice name?  The fudge can’t possibly have walnuts because that’s so predictable, and who gives someone a prize for putting walnuts in fudge?  My husband wouldn’t because he thinks walnuts in fudge is disgusting.  I think he would probably claim to prefer eating his own filth to eating fudge with walnuts in it.  Myself, I like fudge with walnuts just fine.  At least I like it better than my own filth–or anyone’s filth, really.  But that’s off the subject.  The entry with walnuts did win fifth place, so assuming there was a sixth entry comprised of someone’s filth and the judges were more of my mind than my husband’s, a fudge with walnuts could conceivably win fifth place with ease.  I didn’t think the chicken with mole sauce was likely to use almonds.  It just didn’t seem right.  I think I would have used pecans, but the entry with pecans placed lower than the chicken.  But who puts nuts in mousse?  Seriously, why would you do that?  Doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose of mousse?  I suppose you could grind the nuts up, but that would still make the mousse very gritty, in my opinion, and probably not add much in terms of flavor but a great deal in terms of allergy, particularly if it was a peanut-chocolate mousse, and would Marie do something as pathological as that?  I think it must have been the cat from Hillcrest.

So as of today, I have given up logic problems.  Seriously.  No more.  Life is too short, at least theoretically.

There is no logical segue to the following cartoon.

That’s a shameless appeal for comments from my Star Wars-loving readers.

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