Too Many Books

For those of you who read my TMI post yesterday , I have a confession to make: it was truth or scare in disguise. The entire story is true except the last paragraph. Though I was the waitress of the family in question, years after the camp events described, I did not contaminate their food with any of my bodily juices. Confessing that the end of the story is untrue is not very fun. In fact, I feel my ego deflating a bit as I type this now. I wish I was that person -- someone able to perform acts of sweet revenge. But, in my six years (plus) as a waitress, I never once messed with anyone's food. I mean, I may have peed once mid-shift and neglected to wash my hands, but let's be honest -- who hasn't done that a time or two? I'm crestfallen. Yesterday marks the first time I have fabricated a story for TMI Thursday. (It's way more fun to tell the truth.) I feel there is a penance to pay -- that I must redeem myself for the untruth that was told. I th...

One night in the past seven days, a woman was trying to get to sleep. Her feet were freezing and the empty space on the other side of the bed threw her off nocturnally. Why, at such a late hour on a weeknight, was her husband not in bed already? Didn't he remember that he and his wife are working stiffs, nine-to-five-ish-ers with alarm clocks and whatnot? This particularly beautiful, warm, witty woman couldn't fall asleep. She tossed a little. She turned a ton. Then, she made the rookie mistake of peeling back the comforter and heading out into the living room to see what had distracted her mister. "Are you nuts?" she asked, heading toward her end of the couch and shooting an annoyed face at her husband, who sat on his end of the couch, behind his laptop. She glanced at the monitor out of the corner of her eye, and tried not to appear as if she noticed: little red x's in upper right corners being quickly clicked to close certain windows, which momentari...