Exotic yet ordinary

This morning I made the mistake of cracking open the book I bought for someone on a whim the night before, and actually reading a bit of it. Of course I was careful not to bend the spine, and took extra care to touch the book as little as possible, even going so far as to put a barrier between the book and my hand so I wouldn't warp the cover or any pages. My hands have a tendency to be rather, um, sweaty - an unfortunate consequence of my not so super super power: my hands can not be written on with ink or marker. Unimpressive, but true. Comes right off. Anyway, this particular title has been turning up repeatedly and I sort of kept dismissing it because it was historical fiction and, honestly, how interesting could that be? (sorry, Katie) But curiosity got the better of me around 9 o'clock this morning, and since I happened to have a copy right there, I decided to give the first page or two a go during a break at work. You know, to confirm how terrifically boring it would be. Only it wasn't terrifically boring, and the first page or two turned into the first page or sixteen. Before I knew it, I found myself better than half way through the first chapter and seriously considering buying a new copy for the other person before I was finally able to put the book away.

I reluctantly delivered the book this evening after work and am now clinging to the hope that Justin made good on his promise to put in a good word to Santa so that The Other Boleyn Girl finds its way under the tree by Christmas morning. In the meantime, I've gone back to my gross neglegence of Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell. (again, sorry Katie)