Books. It’s what unites us. If you’re a reader, then you know what I mean. If not, then… I don’t get it.  There is a breed of person who is “not a reader,” but I don’t understand them at all.  I remember the first time I heard that there are people who don’t eat books the way that I do, and I’m married to one.  But they puzzle me.

I know the smell of books and paper.  I adore typefaces.  I’ve read books in the bathtub, in bed, in the kitchen, the living room, the dining room, the restaurant, on the bus, train, boat, and airplane, and everywhere in between.  I remember one holiday season, I was reading one of the Myth Adventures by Robert Asprin and a woman sitting next to me commented on the fact I was laughing at what I read.

I wanted to say, please, don’t interrupt me, I’m reading; but I was polite.

Why do people insist on interrupting one when one is engrossed in a good book?

What about you, Dear Reader?
What’s the first book you remember reading?