Monday, May 2, 2011

Reading While Eating

Richard's been busy rearranging the house.  When we initially moved here two years ago we put my office in the dining room.  We were convinced we would need all the guest rooms for actual guests.  I started complaining that I wanted to close the room off for more privacy and all those expected guests never materialized.

I'm happy.  My office is now in the back bedroom.  I can shut the door and write in peace with few distractions.  Richard is happy.  He's busy decorating the dining room to make it perfect.  The room changes daily so I'm reserving my comments until it's finished.  But there was one thing he did that I couldn't remain silent about.  There are books in the dining room.

"We don't read in the dining room.  We eat in the dining room," I said.

"But I love decorating with books.  They look so grand and stately," he debated.

"I also have an issue with your choice of books." I couldn't keep what was really bugging me in any longer.

Richard randomly pulled books off the bookshelf in the office. Unlike me who groups certain books together and makes sure they are always perfectly straight, he has no personal connection to them.  It's rare he will even read a book, opting for magazines instead.  A book requires extended amounts of concentration.  He's hyper.  Short is best. He picked these books strictly for color and size and their visual appeal.

In the dining room, on the sideboard, he'd placed A Certain Slant of Light which is a young adult, paranormal story next to Secrets which is hard core erotica written by a woman I heard speak at a romance writers meeting.  I couldn't get past those two sitting side by side so don't even ask me what title came next.  It had to be something equally as odd.

One thing I know for sure is that we don't hold seances or have sex in the dining room.  Therefore we also do not read while we're eating.  That makes perfectly logical sense to me.   Now I just have to convince Richard of the same thing.

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