“Sweet, sweet, Josephine Christmas Tree!” cried the lamenting lady of the massive manor, from her boudoir bed. “I have just had the most confounding of frightening nightmares, and it appears to have frisked away the most essential self-referring mention from my memory! I have completely forgotten my name! Who am I? To what label do I answer? How do I sign my autograph? I may never know again, and live out my days nameless, without identity! Oh, woe, oh anguish, oh anxiety, oh distress, oh misery, oh sorrow, oh synonym for sadness! I must drown my blue funk in buttermilk pancakes forthwith. Margarina!” She called for her maid to provide the pancakes with which to drown her despair.

And so ends another Twenty Second Mystery. Join us next time for the Somewhat Shoe-Like Scent Stumper.