not a reader

Katya tagged along with me today on what I thought would be the most tedious of errands, cancelling our comcast service. The last time I was at that office (granted, it had been a few years), I waited in line for over an hour. Today, however, the rep called me right over and had me out in three minutes.

An unexpected gift from the gods, unstructured free time! Out of the house, to boot. What on earth to do? Well, just down the road was Half-Price Books.

“Fine, I’ll go,” Katya said. “But don’t try to buy me anything or get me to read anything. I’m not a reader.” I agreed not to pester her.

We meandered up and down the aisles–I had deleted goodreads from my phone long ago, and I had no updated TBR list on hand. Eventually I found a few things. A David Sedaris book I didn’t have yet, a George Carlin collection of bits and pieces, a little something for Liza for New Year’s, etc. A light, tasty reading snack. Katya wasn’t shy with her commentary on my books, and I told her about keeping an eye out for authors from the TLDR Press group and the twitter writing community. A nice little outing, even if she did keep her “not a reader” guard up the whole time.

Then I lost her. In mid-pointless-anecdote I realized she wasn’t beside me anymore. I backtracked and found her wide-eyed, a thick blue book in her hands.

“I found it. I can’t believe I found it! You know that show I watch, Outlander? This is the book! I knew there was a book, but I didn’t think…” She giggled and bounced up and down, one of the little-girly things she still hasn’t completely lost at nineteen. “I’m getting this.”

That’s what the bookstore does. Pure, unvarnished delight at an unexpected discovery. Maybe she won’t read it soon, or ever. But we’re closer to losing that “I’m not a reader” than we were, and I’ll take it.


Name o' Penfold. Just Penfold. A full-time husband, dad, programmer, and nerd, trying to add "writer" to the list.

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