The item shown above is what’s called a “paperback book,” and I know this because, once, in another life, when I actually had the time and energy to do so, I used to read them all the time.
I love to read books. Love it. Love. To. Read. Books. And it pains me greatly that, since becoming a parent, I rarely ever do so.
But on Thursday of next week, barring sickness (a real possibility, seeing as how Jayna has just this evening spiked a fever hovering in the 103-degree range and, a short while ago, vomited her brains out) or some other form of catastrophe (you know, like Zan biochemically fusing himself to his mother in order to prevent us from leaving him for an extended period of time), Wonder Woman and I will be heading down to the Florida Keys … which is why, when selecting a couple of books on Amazon last week specifically for the purpose of having something to read for pleasure while I lounge in a hammock on the beach and/or a seat by the pool, I chose Stephen King’s latest #1 paperback—a tale that, quite fittingly, takes place in the Florida Keys. It’s about 800 pages, and I plan to read the whole damn thing by the time we return from our four-night escape.
This book, as well as the other one I purchased (Dan Brown’s “Angels & Demons”), have been sitting on my desk all week, flirting with me, tempting me with their sexy prose and deliciously tantalizing fictional escapism—so much so that, yes, I’ll admit it: I’ve already burned through the first 50 or so pages of “Duma Key,” even though I had planned on not opening it until we were airborne.
Please, Internet, I need you all to join hands and pray that neither plague nor disaster interfere with our first vacation alone in 10 years, for if our plans should get derailed, I do believe I will end up in a mental institution … which, now that I think about it, probably wouldn’t be all that bad; alone at the beach or alone in a padded room—either one is fine with me, so long as I can bring my books and read them for hours on end without being disturbed.