Yesterday, I was kind of like the opposite of Santa Claus. My aunt and mom both said I could come over and raid their bookshelves for stuff to donate to Books for Soldiers through work, because today was the last day. Until they do it again. Or something. I was kind of confused. SURPRISE SURPRISE.
Anyway, so I went to my aunt's first and she gave me a huge bag of books. Easy. I didn't even have to come down the chimney. Then I went to The House of My Parents. My dad was out of town, but he told my mom I could take any of his books that weren't part of a series. He was going to take them all to Half Price Books to sell them anyway, but I swooped in with my sob story about bored soldiers and stole the books from the bookstore. Haha! Take that, Half Price Books! I'm sorry, was that mean? Whatever, they get enough of my money anyway.
So there I am, sitting on the floor in front of the bookcase, pulling book after book from the shelves and I was getting more and more verklempt because I was getting rid of SO MANY BOOKS. I just kept saying, "Are you sure? All of these? Really? What if Dad wants to reread them? BUT WHAT IF HE MISSES THEM?!?" until my mom called my dad so I could hear straight from him that it was OK. I'm not kidding, you guys, it physically hurt me to get rid of that many books at one time AND THEY WEREN'T EVEN MY BOOKS. Clearly, I have a problem. That is news to no one, I'm sure.
The troops weren't the only ones that made out like bandits. Does anyone else think the phrase "made out like bandits" is kind of confusing? I mean, sure, it could just sound like you got a lot of free shit, but it also kind of sounds like the bandits are, I don't know, making out. Like with lips and stuff. You know?
What was I saying? Oh, right. Not only did I get free Chinese food last night (my fortune: you have an unusually magnetic personality . . . thank you, fortune cookie, but THAT IS NOT A FORTUNE TELL MY FUTURE RIGHT NOW), but my mom also sent me home with a pair of flip flops, some sneakers, a pair of shorts, and best of all, a bottle of wine. Heidi and I thank you, mother.
So I had all these books, right? And I had to take them to work this morning. And there were a lot of them. My mom said I should look for a guy in the parking lot to carry them for me and Heidi suggested I wear a low-cut shirt and use my cleavage to rustle up some man-slaves, but when I got to work this morning there were no mans in the parking lot. So I carried them all in myself, but that's fine because I don't like asking for help anyway. If my hair was on fire and I was surrounded by firemen with big hoses (heh), the most I could probably muster would be, "um, excuse me, sir, but could I bother you to point your hose in my direction?" Again, heh. That got weird. I'm sorry. That happens a lot here and I don't know how.
Anyway, so a little while after I had dumped all the books in the donation bin, I remembered that I had also thrown some magazines in there. Magazines with my name and address on them. I mean, I'm assuming they remove any addresses if they see them. But just in case(s), I warned Heidi that we might end up with some random Army men (not the little green plastic ones) and Marines on our front step. She seemed OK with it.
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