Monday, May 07, 2007


My husband isn't much of a reader.

At times I find this appalling. At others, a great relief. For what if he knew what I was attempting by placing my own silly strings of words together? What if he understood the pointless difficulty of the hours I spend whittling at a mountain with a spoon when I could be doing something useful like learning to boil eggs.

His ignorance, my bliss.

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