A few months ago a friend of mine took me to a book shop and gave me a quarter. I was a bit confused due to the fact that it was around 11:00 at night and the shop was obviously closed. And then I saw the chorus line of books stacked and boxed on fold up tables outside the shop. 25 cent books! Dozens of them! Just laying out there waiting to be held and flipped through, desperately hoping not to be rejected because of their unappealing cover.
All you had to do is just drop the quarter in a little mail slot on the door and take your pick. I liked it because there's just so much trust there. Anyone could easily just take a book and not pay. But they take the risk. Out of trust. Or maybe out of disconcern. Because in all honesty, although I was touched by their 25 cent selection, the books were pretty dreadful. My friend and I spent most of our time there making fun of the ridiculous selection of books. The bulk of the books were either ridiculously terrible romance novels, ridiculous terrible mystery novels, outdated encyclopedias or embarrassing Christian self-help books from the 1970's. I never know how much bad Christian literature came from the 1970's. Okay, now that I think about it, I'm not as touched as I was. Yeah. They were definitely trying to get rid of their worst books. And trying to make us pay for them! I feel manipulated.
I digress. The only point of this blog was to share with you the spectacular gem I found (and actually paid a quarter for.) The book that will change my life:
Tada! The Peter Pan Syndrome. And hey, you better not be laughing. This is serious business, guys. Actually, guys. I'm not talking to you. Ladies. This is serious. The Peter Pan Syndrome is contagious. Your man can pick it up at the bar. Or through a deck of cards. Or heaven forbid, he could've been born with it. But don't worry, Dr. Dan Kiley has our back. The best part is that I flipped through the book and it was filled with underlined sentences and pink highlighted paragraphs. It was like a gold mine. The former owner left little scribbles of reminders in the margins. They usually were things like "He does that too!" or "Use this line next time we fight". But my favorite one was "Pots and pans my ass."
Pots and pans my ass. What could this mean? My imagination went wild. Pots and pans my ass. Does her husband refuse to do the pots and pans? Does he constantly use the excuse "What the hell are you talking about, Susan? I do too help out. I wash the pots and pans." Man. Susan, I'm on your side. Men always think just because they do one chore, they're exempt from all other work. POTS AND PANS MY ASS.
Anyway, apparently there's a term called "The Wendy Syndrome." But I refuse to acknowledge it. Wendy was charming and cute and wore the cutest nightie. I should of titled this blog "Girls rule boys drool." But I'm mature and level headed and really really humble.
Ps. If anyone is interested, I'll sell this book for 50 cents. What? I'm a woman of profit.
No comments:
Post a Comment