Well, if this doesn't take the cake. Here I sit in the Cherry Hill Library, having done the kind spousely thing and brought my husband to opening night of the used book sale. He would have gotten up in the middle of his operation to come here, so it's the least I can do.
I don't like used book sales. People pushin, people shovin, and the girls who try to look nerdy... Oh, wait, I'm gibbering. Used book sales and blogging on my pathetic phone do that to me.
I don't like used book sales because authors don't make any money off my purchases. So while I can't resist picking up Pagan books at these things, I always feel guilty about it later. Doesn't keep me from dipping my mitts into the one buck copies of Drawing down the Moon, though.
I have this quaint notion that I shouldn't buy a book unless I plan to read it. And I don't have time to read. Hmm. Why am I here again? Oh yeah. Mr. J hauls books home by the oxcart. And the cart is outside. And he had back surgery last Friday. So the heavy lifting falls to me.
Ah! There goes the teeming throng! With Mr. J in their slavering midst! Tra la la... Must be a first edition of Gulliver's Travels in there somewhere!
This more-meaningless-than-usual post has been brought to you through the courtesy of a device that could render books obsolete. Maybe I should buy a few for old times' sake.