Oh yes, I too wanted at least eight and a half inches. And it's not every day you can get that at the library. It's only possible every 3-4 months, and I look forward to it with a joy that appeals to my inner dork which can only be matched by hearing the Spouse Thingy say, "Let’s go look at motorcycles."
Oh yeah. I walked up to the door all atwitter, and almost squealed when I saw the BOOK SALE TODAY banner.
I walked out of there with 12 inches of books.
Fifty cents an inch.
You just can't beat that.
I was so distracted by the idea that there was a room full of fifty-cents-an-inch books that I couldn’t focus on what I had gone to the library for--to work--so I packed it up and headed to Border's, where I could sip iced tea while I pretended to spew forth my literary brilliance. I got halfway there and Mother Naturereally wanted to talk to me, so I pulled into the parking lot of a fast food place and headed in for a quick conversation with Momma N.
Just outside the door, there was a woman and her son, maybe 11 years old. They were standing by a trash can, hands full, trying to figure out how to get the trash into the can without touching the push-in lid.
"Use your elbow, Mom."
"It's FILTHY."
So I pushed the lid open, the kid looked at me like I'd committed the utmost grievous sin by touching The Filth.
"They have soap and water inside," I said.
They thanked me, but the Mom stared daggers at me.
Apparently touching a dirty trash can means you'll curl up and die before you can get to the restroom. Who knew?
As I'm paying for my iced tea at the Border's cafe, the clerk asks, "Aren't you hot in that sweatshirt?"
"Um, no..."
"It's hot as hell outside!"
"But it's cool inside."
She didn't know how to respond to that...
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