Aggie Knew How to Party Hardy

English: Agatha Christie blue plague. No.58 Sh...

Agatha Christie blue plaque. No.58 Sheffield Terrace, Kensington & Chelsea, London, U.k. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

(Trust me it gets more interesting near the end.)

Yesterday was supposed to be Writing Wednesday, and I forgot, as I was so inspired by a post by Kathy of Lake Superior Spirit about owning our imperfect selves. I think it is quite fitting that my imperfect self forgot that it was Writing Wednesday.

So, today is going to be Writing Thursday. And for that, I will turn to Amy Peters’ book, The Writer’s Devotional. She provides a short biography of Agatha Christie who once stated: “The secret of getting ahead is getting started.”  She obviously knew what she was talking about; she started and finished over 100 pieces of literature, which takes in her 80 crime novels and the play, Mousetrap, which is the longest running play in theatrical history.

But the thing I found most interesting in Peters’ short biography of Ms. Christie is the fact that she disappeared for eleven days after finding out that her low down good for nothing cheating husband had left her for another woman.

There was a nationwide (wo)manhunt for her. She was found in a Yorkshire Hotel, “claiming that she’d lost her memory.” Now I would like to explore what may have happened in those eleven days. I do not believe that she really lost her memory—I think at first she was probably shocked, then angry, then revengeful. And then she decided to party hardy. She spent one day of despair over the lout who left her and then, swearing the manager of the hotel to secrecy, she took over a whole floor of the hotel, invited all her friends, and partied like it was 1999 (even though it was 1926).

Agatha Christie

Agatha Christie: Is this not the face of someone who knows how to “party hardy”?  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A little known fact is that when she was found, her room was littered with champagne bottles, a cabana boy had been imported from wherever cabana boys reside, and she was ready for a divorce.

Ah, the mind and its imaginings.

It is the epitome of bliss to let our imaginations roam sometimes. So what do you think Agatha was doing for those eleven days?