What Did I Do Wrong Now?

And other mysteries.

Picture this: I’m going about my day, secure in the knowledge that a) the Earth revolves around the sun, b) what goes up must come down, and c) I can depend on two, maybe three people to avenge my death.

If needed.

When one of them subtweets the above, I think out loud, “Ooooooh somebody done fucked up.”

It soon dawns on me (through a series of clues that would stump Sherlock Holmes) that somehow, someway, I’m the one who done fucked up.

That’s right, folks.

One of my favorite people on the planet called me dead wood. On Twitter. Before skedaddling out of my DMs.

And I have no idea why.

To Be Fair

I haven’t asked for an explanation. Between me and you, I don’t really want to ask. I don’t wanna pry.

But I do wanna know.

“Great. I’m in the same category as Kelly.”

This dude and I go way back and know each other reasonably well. In fact, I figured that if our partners died first we’d end up down the hall from each other in an assisted living facility. Enjoying the hell out of some pudding and Murder She Wrote.