To me, riddles feel like golf or Monopoly. I get frustrated the first few times, and soon enough, there goes my 4-iron in the lake, or there goes the Monopoly board at grandma's face.
Oh, how we love to hate riddles. We seem always to try and solve them, but sometimes can't. They bring us back for some reason, though. Hence, the similarities to golf.
Take this one for instance. I will be honest, this one took me some time. I ended up guessing wrong, and having to look at the answer.
Here's the simple question: Mr. Brown was killed on a Sunday afternoon. Who killed him?
A. His Wife
B. The Butler
C. The Chef
D. The Maid
E. The Gardener
Who killed Mr. Brown? Did you figure it out?
If you haven't figured it out yet, and just have to know the answer, keep scrolling!
The Chef because he said he was making breakfast. In the afternoon.
Were you right? Did you pick the right person? See if your friends and family can figure this riddle out! In other news, a 14-year-old boy wrote an amazing poem, but if you read it backward, your mouth will hit the floor. Check it out here!