In 2010 I started reading for pleasure again, fueled mostly by my friend Holly, who is a sales rep for a large publisher and has a personal penchant for YA (young adult) fiction. She started by lending me The Hunger Games and a few others, and next thing you knew she was showing up with a bag of books every few weeks, and I’d send her home with the finished pile. I was nondiscriminating, and I was devouring books! At the end of that year, I had read approximately 75 books—and I had really only started in March. So going into 2011 I set a 100-book goal, just to see.
I’ve been sitting on this awesome news for MORE THAN A YEAR, guys. A year! That’s like . . . seven dog years. Fifteen cat years. Approximately 4mm of a tree’s trunk diameter. Almost 526 THOUSAND minutes. Like I say, it’s a long time.
A long time to keep a secret.
“What!” Sydelle Pulaski cried.
I repeat: Wrong! All answers are wrong! Partnerships are canceled; you are on your own. Alone.
Erm . . . wait, this isn’t The Westing Game (the best book ever written–and if you’re a fan, as all those who’ve read it are, you must click on that link). But that’s what I always think when something is wrong. Amazingly, despite 75 entries, no one hit on the number of knitting books I own exactly. Let’s take a look at the numbers.