This blog post is a confession, dear readers. I am a hypocrite.
I bought someone a book as a gift.
This is the actual response via email of the person I gifted the book to when she finished reading it. Names have been changed to protect the identities of the innocent:
Sent 14 December 2013 @ 12:36AM
“I just finished The Fault in Our Stars. Bob, The Boy, and the critters are all asleep. My sleeves are soaked and covered in snot (the tissues are on Bob’s bedside table), and the sinuses on the right side of my face are
Sent from my iPhone”
Sent 14 December 2013 @ 12:40AM
“And I hit send ’cause I’m typing on my phone late at night…
Anyway, I can’t breathe, I’m pretty sure my eyes are going to fall outta my head, and I need to change pajamas so I don’t drown in the grossness I’ve spread on them. I blame you for all of this.
Dear god, you’re awesome. Thanks again for the book.”
And so dear readers, either my previously posted conclusion on this blog that books are the worse gift ever is actually erroneous or I would buy this person underwear.
In this instance, I’m afraid its the second of those observations.
To all of my wonderful readers, Merry Christmas, and God bless us, everyone!