in which books take abuse.
reading in the tub has many advantages. you can multitask, letting that Profoundly Deep Conditioner stuff get really Deep. it's brilliantly escapist, combining the inherent escapist qualities of a book with being enveloped in the cradling pillows of water several dozen degrees hotter than your body is equipped to handle. but my absolute favorite part is the Risk. there's always the chance that Ol' Sturdy Hands will malfunction and the book will plunge into a watery grave, thereby changing the book-tub experience into a frantic-cursing experience. and then i'll have to go around reading an bloated, crinkly book fiercely determined to exhibit to anyone within earshot the unspeakable abuse it has endured by Ol' Sturdies. people can pronounce all they want the book-tub experience as being the most relaxing activity in this world, but they're hiding The Truth. and while i make it a point to keep Ol' Sturdies snuggled far, far away from any shards of Truth-Telling, lest the ghost of ayn rand should sniff out the Truth-Telling and make elaborate body-snatching efforts, being that Truth-Telling eluded her for her entire lifetime and she's bitter, i have to speak The Truth. it is this: reading in the tub, it's Risky.
maybe people build little shelves that run the width of the tub to place the books on. maybe they cover the whole top of the tub with plastic wrap, or aluminum foil. maybe they suspend the book from string hooked onto the ceiling. but not me, oh no. i'm a Risk-Taker.
that kid. no that one. last did something awkward circa 08:53
4 people laughing at, not with.
4 Comments:
i am a put the book on the side of the tub and sit upper. wuss, you say? no. ol clumsy's i have and so this is still quite risky and i have finished my share of damp bloated books. which is all fine and well until it's a library book.
Some of my favourite books are, somewhat understandably, all fat and stiff and wrinkly. For library books, though, I find the best thing is to leave them open in a warm, dry place for approximately twenty-four hours after drowning. When sufficient dryness has been achieved, close the book and balance something very heavy on top, so that its weight is distributed evenly, pressing the pages flat. This will not save the book from the same fate as the others, but if - after a further twenty-four hours - you remove aforementioned weight and rush the book in question back to the library, you will evade the trauma of being caught red-handed, though not the later embarrassment of having to look innocent in front of the book-rental authorities whilst delivering dialogue such as: "Eh? Not me, guvnor. It was fine when I 'ad it, I swear."
You're welcome.
i am a little girl. if the tub is too deep, i can say goodbye to the book. i would have to keep myself from drowning, first and foremost, before i get to my kundera. i'm glad you are a risk-taker, though. that says a lot about bathers today.
a) The sad, sad truth is that my current apartment has no bath, and I crave one badly on good days, and it's safe to say you've really aggravated it with this post!
b) Many of my favourite books have been ruined this way...not because I have dropped them (well, maybe I've let a corner or two dip), but because I've let my sister borrow them, and she's not very conscientious about other people's things. :(
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