Mom just shook her head when I spent my free time in the evenings earlier this week working on a series of twelve geocaching puzzles, each more difficult and complicated than the last. Obscure languages? Biblical verses? Photo image analysis? Unusual base factor math calculations? Check, check, check and check. After a couple of days of work and a lot of aggravation, I got all twelve solved and obtained all the necessary GPS coordinates. My reward? The opportunity to go and buy a pair of waders and spend a day this coming fall wandering around hip-deep (literally, so I hear) in a swamp with three or four other like-minded lunatics actually looking for these caches.
I may be very good at solving puzzles, but Mom is now firmly of the opinion that I've lost whatever good sense I ever had!
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