My Morning Spent With Sweaty Stinkpot Book People

Two of my favorite things:

1. Reading
2. Shopping for deals

I also enjoy chocolate and old Seinfeld episodes.

And playing in the snow.

But today, we talk about reading and shopping.

I promise there is a point to this.

Did you know women use 10,000 more words in a day than men?  That could be why it takes so long for me to get to my point.

"Could you get to the actual story, please?!"

I heard this yesterday.  But do the men in our lives ever realize that the set up to the story is actually just as important as the story itself?  Obviously not.

So, yesterday was the City's big book sale.  Big.  There were nutcases lined up all the way down the block.  For the first, and last, time my co-worker, Sharon, and I were among them, chatting with the ladies around us about the Jodi Picoult book that needed to be found by one, and the pervert who escorted and propositioned another at the last sale.  We shared stories with the rookies on what they could expect to encounter in the rooms lined with books, and where particular books would most likely be found.  We shared and recommended our favorites and discussed the classics.  I was truly saddened when the door opened and I had to trample all of them for James Pattersons.

I have never felt like a bigger nerd.

Except when my cheeks touched my glasses when I smiled.

"I just can't seem to find my Jodi Picoult book."

"Too bad lady.  I'm here for myself and my historical fictions.  Now get outta my way before I climb over you."

No, I wasn't actually mean.  Out loud.  But she was intruding on my precious shelf space.  And since space was extremely limited I became anxious and aggrivated.  Yes, we shared a laugh outside in the line.  But friends are not friends in the aisles of the Book Sale.

She finally moved on and then I became trapped.  Physically.  They closed in on me, those Science Fiction hoodlums.  Shoving books by the armful into their suitcases, blocking me from the way I had come.  Ahead of me was a sweaty man looking at books to his right and a stinky man looking at books to the left.  They were practically back to stinky, sweaty back.  I thought about screaming.  I stuck my head in the space between the tops of the books and the shelf above.  I could see the next aisle, jam free.  Full of fresh air.  I thought about how difficult it would be to climb through.

See, beyond stinky and sweaty, there were more people.  Lots more.  So the only way I could get out was let one of them into my clean and perfumed personal space while I snuck around the other.

But I was lucky.  In more ways than finding the same book I lent Katie and my mom years ago and have never seen since.  There was a small space into which I could force stinky to allow myself to maneuver past (passed?) sweaty.

It worked, but I think some stank rubbed off.  I carried it with me for the rest of the day.

But for three days a year (sale runs again February and October) I can put up with a little lasting B.O.  Because I found treasures.  Cheap treasures.

Like my favorite book of all time: Wuthering Heights.  I just find the setting so romantic.

I already have a copy.  But this one seemed so new and fresh.  And if I read it again, I would like a pretty copy.

And then there's the book I gave away.  Also high on my list of favorites.

"Jones has woven a footnote of history into an epic that takes an unflinching look at slavery in all of its moral complexities."  Couldn't have said it better myself.

Then there were these:

She had autism.

And she went crazy.

The brain's functions facinate me.

This just looked funny...

...and I really do want to know if anything eats wasps.  Because I hate them.

I waited in line near the classics, so in addition to Wuthering Heights I picked up this beauty:

I hear that whole story tellin' thing ran in the family.

Again, going for funny:

I read her columns in our local paper every week.  I feel we are on the same page.

This is a good author.  If you like knowing what goes on in China.  They don't let her sell her stuff there, so I'm sure she's pretty accurate.

I didn't know what this one was about when I picked it up.

If it says "Pulitzer Prize," I am going to buy it.

So that's 9 books.  How much do you think I spent?

Got any guesses?

Any?

Four dollars and fifty cents.

I wrote it all out like that for dramatic effect.  I hope you read it with emphasis on each word because that's how I said it when I typed it.

I killed two-of-my-favorite-things birds with one stone yesterday.  Four if you count going home and eating razzleberry pie while watching The Office.

Good day.  Good, stinky day.