Every book I’m reading is red, red paperback, all the same dark tomato shade of red, all about the same size, too, so I will reach for one, thinking it’s another, start reading where I left off, and be utterly baffled, flipping through pages and muttering to myself: What is this about Cora Crippen staring out the window of 39 Hilltop Crescent Dr.? Uhm, excuse me, but where is Ago Vespucci? Where is Qara Koz? The Skeleton? The Mattress? Okay. This author is clearly whack. He’s lost it. He’s mental! How did this ever get published? He has totally switched stories … like a schizo …. like a nutjob ….. like it’s a completely different …… ohh.
The publishers are doing a literary Folgers Switch on you! “We’ve secretly replaced the plot and characters of Tracey’s current read with the plot and characters from another story. Let’s see if she notices the difference. . . “
I know. SO sad. I am dumb.
Did I mention I took a trip to the beach this summer, ready to tackle the Harry Potter series at last. . . and it took me several pages to realize I’d grabbed BOOK TWO and stuffed it in my beach bag the day before? Now that is dumb.
Ha!!!!!