Last night Mark and I were discussing our Christmas presents on the way to a Wild game.
"You know you're going to have to read those books, because Jared is going to ask about them," I said to Mark. My brother got Mark World War Z and Zombie Apocalypse for Christmas. It was the Christmas of the zombie.
"Oh, God," said Mark. "I'll actually have to READ a BOOK." Mark can read books, he just doesn't very often. He was being sarcastic.
Continuing to give him grief, I said, "You know, I can read, like, three books in a day." This is actually true. I can, have, and do occasionally read three books a day.
"That's because you are not quite human," replied Mark.
I laughed. "Oh, really? Was that said with admiration or disgust?"
"There were elements of admiration."
That's my husband. He might not be able to read three books a day, but he is the master of the politically correct statement.
Three books? They must not have been Ulysses, Moby Dick, and Gravity's Rainbow. (Maybe Tuesdays With Morrie, Jonathon Livingston Seagull, and The Velveteen Rabbit.)
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