Firstoff, I think I need to just go ahead and announce that I hate getting my hair cut.  I think it’s boring and I absolutely hate sitting still for the two whatever hours it takes to get the whole process complete.  I anticipate hair cuts simply because my hair is driving me insane by the time I finally make it to the salon, but once I get there I’m just like: CUT MY HAIR and don’t even style it please, I can style it myself.

Pretty weird if you ask me.

Secondhand (which I know does not follow “firstoff”, but in this case I just felt like using it), several weeks ago I started reading my favorite series again.  I do this about once every year or two and from the minute I pick up the first book, it’s like catching up with old friends.

Hello, Elisa it has been awhile; how are you?  And your father, how is he?  Oh?  I forgot that happened, do tell me some more.

And we go on like that for six entire books.  It’s my favorite.

Well, Elisa ditches out after book three and makes a few appearances in books 4-6, but by then I’m catching up with all my other old friends and I don’t mind so much.

This year, I noticed Joey eyeing my books as I’ve been reading through them like a string of dominos, and I handed him book one and told him to just start it already.

It took him an entire week to summon the gumption to read my book.  It was, by all appearances, a girl book.  HISTORICAL FICTION, if you will.  (Germany and Austria in 1936, to be specific.)

On Monday or so, he finally started it.  The first few pages were rough, he couldn’t pronounce “Guarnerius”, much less tell you that it was a kind of violin, nor could he keep several of the characters straight.  Theo?  Elisa?  WHO IS THIS THOMAS GUY?  And Franz?  Oh, what is the Sudetenland?

By Tuesday, he had read a few more pages and had stopped carrying on about the number of characters.

On Wednesday, we had company so he didn’t read much.

Thursday and Friday my grandparents were here, but I noticed him sneaking peeks at the book now and then.

Saturday and Sunday?  He can’t put it down.  We were supposed to leave ten minutes ago to take Henry to get his nails trimmed, but when I finally located Joey he was on the couch with the book saying, “It’s not my fault, YOU are the one who gave me this book to read and now I can’t get anything else done!”

I told him it was good.  All these years he wouldn’t listen to me.

Now maybe I can get him off the couch so we can go.  Or, by the looks of him, maybe not.