when reality is goofier than fiction

I was prowling around the living room, crawling, climbing, shoving wobbly stacks of dusty paperbacks left and right, for an hour. Somebody said something about a story and I remembered that I was sure I had that book and I hadn’t ever read it so…the odyssey ensued. Eventually, I found what it was I was looking for and went to the other end of the house to look at it.

The back cover made no mention of fish girls. I flipped through, although I planned on reading the entire thing later, I’m impatient and wanted to get to the good part first. A guhzillion page flips and several internet cheat page searches later? No mermaids.

My husband stumbled into the room, singing the wrong words to an annoying TV commercial from five years ago. He did a dorky dance and chugged his Dr. Pepper. I growled up at him, grumpy and frustrated…totally unimpressed.

“This book is about war. There’s no mermaids in it!” I snarled.

He bent down and squinted to read the title on the spine. This from a man who collects every single hobbit and Harry Potter and the like yet claims he’s never read a whole book, ever, mind you.

“Right author. Wrong book,” he said.

My forehead wrinkled on its own.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re thinking about the one with the mermaids and they cover their ears so they don’t hear,” he said.

I checked the title of the book and sighed, dumbfounded.

“I don’t have THAT one,” I said.

“Yes, you do,” he said.

I got up and walked over to the first shelf I came to—four books to the right.

“How did you know that?” I wanted to know.

He just shrugged and laughed and went on about his business.

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