It's better than a vacuum, I suppose.
It's not quite a cross between a cat bringing you a dead mouse and the middle school bathroom peer pressure: "Everyone's doin' it. You'll be cool if you do. You know you'll like it."
That last sentence may be true. But what else can you call it when one's husband gifts you with things like John Julius Norwich's three-volume set titled Byzantium? I vaguely feel like I'm being enticed into his addiction.
I know, he's just trying to help me fill the gaping holes in my history background. And share one of his interests. I recognize I've been an enabler in the past, encouraging him to purchase the Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium.
So his heart is in the right place. And, like the title says, it's better than a vacuum.
Labels: books, Dear husband
4 Comments:
Marriage: It's About Sharing.
Why am I suddenly reminded of the Simpsons episode where Homer gives Marge a bowling ball - with his name engraved on it - for her birthday?
Hey!
They're still right where she left them.
Would it be OK if I said that they were essential preparatory material for our eventual trip to Europe?
Nah, it's not that bad.
It's kind of nice that he presumes I have the time and energy to sit around reading multiple volumes on a dead empire.
Interest, at least a possibility; time and energy are the problem.
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