My same compulsion to eat the last half plate of greasy fries even when I think I'm at the point of losing my lunch altogether also has me hoard every last book that's ever been on sale at Chapters. Whereas I am the only one to suffer the consequences of the former (or, more accurately , my thighs and buttocks are), the latter habit has also been of disdain to my in-laws. That War and Peace novella for $3.99 that I have never, ever read? It sits alongside David Copperfield ($6.99), wondering when the dickens I will finally crack it. Both have found shelter in a dusty cardboard condo that takes up valuable real estate space in the room formerly known as The Cave where Adoring and Wonderful Husband sheltered his eyes from the light of day, lest the UV diminish his capacity for drinking excessively at Boston Pizza with his jackass buddies, or lead him into the temptation of saving money as opposed to blowing it all at the casino. But I digress...
Every time we travel back to the Holy Land, I pack the biggest suitcases we have only about a quarter full so that when it comes time to get back to reality I can stuff those suckers right up until the zippers threaten to burst open like Star Jones' stomach, one Big Mac later (too much?) And every time we get another visit under our belts, the boxes of my former life get pared down even more, transported to a new basement floor (if not discarded entirely), so that there's now only five boxes of me left on this soil, in this city, in this place I used to call home, instead of seven.
And I wonder: What happens when I get down to zero boxes? What happens then?
3 sweet nothing:
don't get rid of them. maybe we'll start a book club in Regina and make them required reading.
As far as I'm concerned, the only book worth owning is the Just Give'r Handguide.
i'm back again!
go find an office building somewhere and ask if they have any extra boxes. they'll prolly be able to find you some because that's what the copier paper comes in. :P
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