Alan has a great dislike for a particular popular series of young adult novels--if you don't know which one I'm talking about by the end, so much the better for you. His dislike largely stems from the fact that I have read all of them, and yet mocked and rolled my eyes on every page. He cannot understand why I would finish them if I didn't like them. Why waste the time? To own the truth, I'm not sure why, except so I could know what happened, and have enough knowledge to make fun of them with aptness. It's like Mystery Science Theater 3000, right?
So, to save him some grief, I swore I wouldn't see the movies. And I have kept that promise, many possible girl's nights out notwithstanding.
But, there was another of this author's books that I had heard was not so bad as the rest. And so, at the library, because I have approximately 10.5 seconds to choose a book for myself to read before my children drag me away, I saw this book and grabbed it.
I tried to be discrete with my book as I sped read it throughout the day. Once, Alan was talking to me, and I put the book down and slid it across the table until it fell onto a chair. "Aren't you going to pick it up?" he asked. "No--it's so thick, I'm sure it's fine," I said.
Alan went up to put in some late microscope hours that night and I pulled out my book and began to skim in earnest. It's a long book. If only Alan had been 20 minutes later, I would have made it.
"Still up?" He asked at 12:30 a.m when he came back in.
"Yup," I said, surreptitiously hiding the cover of my book.
"Must be a good one."
"Yup."
But then, unfortunately, in my attempts to hide it, the book fell on the ground. Cover side up. Alan recognized it. I gave a guilty smile.
"I don't believe it." disgusted Alan (that's a verb I just made up).
Since I would be up for a few more minutes, he picked up "The Messenger" by Marcus Zusak--admittedly, his book choice was superior to my own.
The next morning, I had a hard time waking Alan up. "How far did you get in the book?" I asked him.
"To the end," he mumbled.
"The end! What time did you go to bed?"
"Five."
"I don't believe it," I disgusted.
The point of this story is that neither of us is particularly disciplined, but both of us are very forgiving.
