Jackie Wells-Fauth
For some people, they get nervous when their partner goes into a clothing or shoe store. Or, perhaps they worry about the joint checking account should their partner enter an antique shop, a hardware store or even a car dealership. My husband worries about none of those. He starts sweating when I enter a bookstore.
While both of us like to read, I am definitely the one who goes somewhat overboard with books. And I keep pointing out to him that an addiction to books is much better than if I were addicted to alcohol or cocaine. He has the nerve to suggest that the cost of my book habit isn’t much cheaper!
“Are you sure you need that many books?” he will enquire, watching me juggle my stack of books in the checkout line at Barnes and Noble. He refuses to encourage my book habit by helping me carry them.
“What, this?” I scoff. “This is only half of what I bought the last time I was here.”
“Yes, but have you gotten all of those books read?”
“Of course not! If I had all of those read, I’d naturally have to buy many more,” I respond in all seriousness.
“Naturally,” he says between gritted teeth, “I wouldn’t want the three bookshelves at home, completely full of more books waiting to be read, to start looking empty.”
Some people just don’t understand the art of true literary appreciation. I once visited the home of Mark Twain and in the living room, a book sat beside the lamp table, as they had left things just as Twain left them when he died. I felt a little bad that he hadn’t been able to finish that book and then we went into the conservatory, and there was another half-finished book. Same was true of the table where he had done his writing. In all, he left seven partially read books at the time of his death. I felt a kindred spirit. I understood. There is just a different book you will read in the bedroom as opposed to the one you read in the bathroom, which is entirely different from the book you read in the living room.
“What do you think of that?” I asked my husband smugly.
“I think you and he should have drunk more whiskey and read books in more moderation,” he replied.
I feel it’s my responsibility to read these books. I read Gone With the Wind before I saw the movie, and I was disappointed at what they left out. I read the Bridgerton series some time ago and now, after watching the shows coming out based on them, I may have to go back and read them again to see if there is any resemblance between the two, besides the name Bridgerton.
My children are watching the other bookshelves, sagging even more under the books I have finished, with growing dismay. They appreciate reading, but mostly, they don’t want to have to be the ones who move all of those books someday. Honestly, though, I can’t be expected to get rid of books I have read—what if I wanted to read them again?
I finally decided that perhaps I should cut down on expenses and just check out books from the library. I was sure Roy would be happy about that. I came home with a whole armload of really good finds from the library.
“Look dear, I won’t have to buy these books; I’ll just read them from the library. What do you think?”
He looked at the stack of books in my hands and then he turned to look at the bookshelves nearly collapsing under the weight of the books I have bought that I still have to read.
“I think I’m going to buy you some booze for your birthday. Or, do you have any idea where I might get some recreational drugs legally? We have to get you a new hobby.”
Foolish fellow. That will never happen. I think Thomas Jefferson said it best when he declared, “I cannot live without books.” And I bet nobody tried to get him to switch from books to harmful substances!
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