No wonder the clerk at Barnes & Noble laughed. I was distracted and oblivious, too wrapped up in myself to treat her as a fellow-traveler on the same journey.
I ignored her, more or less, anxious to be on my way. I wasn’t rude, but I wasn’t kind – and in many ways that’s worse. Active rudeness at least acknowledges one’s existence.
But the cashier laughed, and I noticed her, and then I looked at the books stacked in front of me and I laughed, too. We had a moment.
I promised to let her know how it all works out.
The cookbook is something you want to get naked and roll around in. Greenspan is a baking goddess – a thin goddess, even. How does that work? She must just stand over her creations and sniff them, occasionally sampling an errant crumb that sticks to the pan. Up to her waistline in ganache and choux pastry, she stays lithe and little.
She’s probably one of Those People who goes to a party and says, primly, “Just water for me, please. No ice.” Definitely not someone you want to get naked and roll around with.
But I bet she’s never bought a cheesy self-help book, even from the final-clearance cut-out bin. I bet she’s never had a problem with self-discipline. I bet she’s never waffled (except perhaps in the kitchen).
I even waffle about cheesy self-help books. I’m afraid to listen to the self-hypnosis CD that came with I CAN MAKE YOU THIN.
I’ll let you know how it all works out.