I’d just finished a few hours of late-night revising. I wanted something easy to read. Something fun. And my daughter had been raving about the book she was reading. The book she was right in the middle of reading…
I snuck into her room, stole the book from her end table, read the first half, and then replaced the book before morning.
And the next night, I did the same thing.
I am thoroughly (kind of) ashamed of myself. Especially when she’s so nicely offered me the book to read, now that she’s finished it.