I love my Roomie dearly. Best friends for eight and a half years. She’s a lovely person with many fine qualities.
When I look at her bookshelf I want to punch her in the tooth.
It has nothing to do with her tastes in reading. I’m absolutely of a to-each-his-own mentality when it comes to that. Read whatever you want. I am not, however, so open minded when it comes to the organization of one’s bookshelf.
You see, the Roomie does not separate fiction from non-fiction and it fills me with burning fury.
Having just written that sentence, I want to make it clear that, yes, I do realize how ridiculous I sound.
But it just drives me so crazy.
I don’t expect her to arrange it exactly as I do – non-fiction then fiction, with sub-sections of genre – though, let’s face it, it would be nice. Nor do I expect her to start using library cards like the one another friend gave me, that have me itching to lend out my books. (It came with a date stamp and everything!)
But seriously, fiction and non-fiction all mixed up? I go in there to peruse the shelves and, with the exception of Harry Potter, have no idea what I’m going to pull.
Just makes me want to sneak in there and set things right.
Then I realize I’m having a Sheldon Cooper moment and resist.
But it’s not easy.
Okay, now that I’ve shared my weekly does of crazy, let’s hear yours.
Oh, you don’t have any?
Just me that’s crazy, huh?
Well, that’s fine, too.