So, picture this. It's a novel written by the esteemed Agatha Christie, whose work I appreciate a lot. I get to chapter 14, and I'm fully invested at this point. I have my theories regarding whodunnit and why, and I can't wait for the plot twists to come and either make me feel very smart or very stupid. Then I begin to read the first sentence of that chapter, and my eyebrows shoot straight up to my hairline. My lips quiver into a disbelieving half-smirk, and my eyes caress the words again and again, as though mesmerized by their unexpected splendor. Here they are, verbatim:

"Mrs Bantry was on her knees. A good day for hoeing."

Now, don't you call me immature! Clearly she was talking about gardening, but I chortled, ladies and gentlemen. It was funny, okay? I did not order a dash of saucy humor with my murder mystery, but you'll never hear me complaining. I'm an even bigger fan of hers now! Agatha Christie, the Queen of Crime. Agatha Christie, the Queen of Double Entendres. :D Ahh, that was great. The whole novel was great, by the way. I did manage to move past that segment and finish the whole thing. I was partially right about the identity of the criminal and about their motives, so I patted myself on the back for that partial victory.

I hope you enjoyed my light-hearted tale. Shall we talk? I've been reading books all day, and I could use some human company.