Two Pounds of Words

The other day a package arrived from Amazon Prime with two books I had ordered: Nadia Hashimi's The Pearl that Broke Its Shell (for Book Club), and Ron Chernow's Alexander Hamilton (just because).


The arrival of a package -- any package! -- is cause for excitement, so Timothy was standing next to me when I pulled out the books.


"What's THAT?" he asked, pointing to the Hamilton book.


I laughed. At 800+ pages, all of it written in teeny, tiny font, it's a hefty book. Literally. It weighs over two  pounds.


"I'm going to read it," I replied.


"WHY?" he exclaimed, looking horrified.


He didn't get it, I could tell. For someone who only reads under duress from a deadline, a report, or his mom, the fact that I would VOLUNTARILY read a book this size was incomprehensible, ludicrous, and downright insane. After all, who reads when they can play Fortnite?


I just patted him on the shoulder, commiserating. Poor thing.


He has a mom who likes to reads. Oh, the horror.

Ugh. My mom likes to read big books.

For no reason.