A Risible Untruth

Every year for Christmas, my mother-in-law gives us calendars. Last year, she made personal calendars for each of us with custom collages for each month.

August, I rediscovered as I belatedly turned the calendar to the half-over new month, was books for me. She collected images from my blog of books I read last year, a couple images of my bookshelves, and one emasculating extraneous inclusion:

I have not read The Notebook. I am a man.

NOTE: It’s possible I bought the book sometime and she saw it among my Good Book Hunting posts. In which case, I might read it sometime and this feigned outrage may be ignored. Thank you, that is all.

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