The Questionable Antics of My Writer Wife: Part 2

On Saturday morning, I was getting ready to head out of the house and do a few things, when Amy came in with a package held to her chest and plopped herself onto the couch. I was curious so I went to see what she was up to. “Whatcha’ got there?”

“A book.”


“Don’t know. It looked interesting, so I bought it.”

“…” Her response honestly made me wonder why I asked. “Well anyway, I have to run a few errands, so I’ll be back in a few hours, okay?”

“Gotcha.” She tore away the paper package and immediately opened up the book.

At about 4:30 that night I walked into the house and I was a little put off because Amy was still sitting on the couch. Except she wasn’t reading the book, and she wasn’t watching TV; she was just looking at the wall. I walked over to her to see what was going on. When I was next to the table, she finally noticed me and said, “Oh! Hey.”

“Hey… what are you doing?”

“Thinking.” She smiled now. I still don’t know why I tried. “Okay,” I said. I looked over at the book, and I was completely confused because it looked like she had only gotten a few pages into it; and it had been a few hours, so she should’ve been further than that. I picked up the book, went to where the bookmark was, and I was right. “You only got to page three,” I said.

“I know, it’s really good at being a book,” she said.


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