Apparently, someone stole a copy of my most recent book, Global Perspectives on Medieval English Literature, Language and Culture. We mailed a copy off to the Wordhoard's 100,000th visitor, but all the winner got was an empty envelope.
At first we assumed that somehow we'd forgotten to put it in the envelope, but no. Two different people were involved in preparing it for shipping and both confirmed that it was in there -- indeed, it had to be in there to weigh what it weighed. No, the book was shipped, but at one point or another it was stolen. I'll be shipping out another copy tomorrow.
Some people might suggest that the thief assumed there was something valuable in the package and opened it, not realizing it was my book. I prefer to believe that the thief was absolutely desperate to get a copy of my book, but would not be satisfied with a brand new copy. No, he wanted a signed copy by the world's most charming and handsome living medievalist (whom modesty forbids me from naming). No doubt he has been surveilling the outgoing mail from Troy University for weeks, patiently biding his time until an opportunity would arrive for him to snatch up that oh-so-coveted signed copy of Global Perspectives.
Well played, sir. Well played.