Hi. 'Tis me. Your Youngest. Remember when you told me (read: warned me) not to read ANY (read: I swear to God) more of the books I had on reserve at the library (read: I have 18 thousand books on reserve at the library) because, dangit (read: dammit), Christmas is almost here (read: four days) and I had half of those books (read: ALL of them) on my Christmas list, may the Lord be with us, amen?
Well, it has happened. The ONE book I have been wanting to read since I heard such a book existed (read: Dear John by Nicholas Sparks) has arrived. With MY name on it. I have been waiting for about, oh, TWO MONTHS (at least) for said book to arrive. Meanwhile, I have been reading everything else on my Christmas list. (I kid, I kid. Mostly).
Here is where I face the Moral Decision That May or May Not Be the Bane of My Existence. Do I (gasp) trot over to the library, not tell a soul, and get my sweet, sweet copy of Dear John and read it in two days, or do I behave like the sweet-natured, loving, responsible, ever-so-grateful, honest, fantastic (OK, I'm done) daughter that I am, and leave it be. For the next person waiting on the list.
Sigh. Sigh-sigh. Eyelash-batting. Siiiiiigh.
OK, fine. God. You never let me do anything that I want. UGH. (Just kidding). I promise I won't read it. But I will check it out from the library as insurance. Because if Santa Claus did not bring me Dear John, and I gave up my seat for the next person in line to read it, I will be mortified.
It's a fair compromise. I won't read a word of it.
Your ever-faithful, not-reading-any-Nicholas-Sparks-at-all-whatsoever-daughter, Krista