In the lovely script, it just had three numbers: 1-6-10. What’s this number? Certainly not my measurements. Who will figure this out?
“Now who in the afterlife would pull something like this?” said a both surprised and perturbed Lulu, the Ghostess with the Mostess. Someone had managed to sneak into her Dead End Drive-In Theater and put little cat figurines all around the back office, even on Lulu’s full-sized statue of Frankenstein’s monster.
Toad, her short and spectral assistant, shifted uncomfortably. “Um, they are in, um, other places as well,” he said.
“What kind of moron shows up to my theater, drops these annoying little things everywhere, and then doesn’t stick around for me to wring his neck?” said Lulu, picking up one of the unusual figures. “I mean, they are kind of cute.”
“Maybe they’re, um, a gift,” said Toad.
“A gift is like one with a bow, not a truckload,” said Lulu. “That red cat has a weird sense of humor.”
“Um, there was this, um, too,” said Toad, handing her a piece of paper. In the lovely script, it just had three numbers: 1-6-10.
Lulu took a quick look at the paper and handed it back to him. “What’s this number? Certainly not my measurements. Toad, you’re good at math. Figure this out.”
Just because Toad took a head (or headless) count of the audience did not mean he was a math wizard. For the sake of his position, he looked at the paper meaningfully before saying, “Um, no idea.”
“Toad,” said Lulu. “You must be good at something, so let me know when you figure it out.”
Accustomed to the mistresses’ sass, Toad’s mind turned to more practical concerns. “Um, what are we going to, um, do with them?” he asked.
Lulu tapped her finger on her red lips for a moment. “Meh, give them out to guests. Friday night, free cat show.”
“Um, shouldn’t we, um, say they’re, um figurines?” said Toad.