and afterwards I wandered the shelves, waiting for some book to grab my attention and promise to be insightful and witty. But in my regular sleep deprived state nothing stuck out.
Meanwhile, Lana lolled behind me, pulling books out of the bottom shelf and saying "Here you go, Mommy!" It took me a minute before I realized her critera: Pink.
Talk about judging books by their cover.
It turns out there could be a section in the library categorized as "Pink Fiction" and none of my college English professors would set foot in there. Rippling muscles, passionate embraces, BODICES!!--you'd think they'd shelve stuff like that out of children's reach.
After rejecting the thirtieth romance novel thrust upon me (because as a mom of two the last thing I need is more groping in my life), I grabbed the nearest book and we checked out.
(And yes, there might have been a few pink books spilling out of the shelves behind us, but I figure we more than make up for it with our late fees.)
Anyway, it doesn't really matter what I read because these days I kid myself to think I do use books as anything other than a way to lull myself to sleep at night. So here's a review in advance: The cover is red.
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