Every time a handsome man comes up to me and asks me what I am reading, it is never something cool, like a Patrick O’Brian book, or Dostoevsky, or something like “The History of Fenway Park” – something I would feel no problem handing over for examination. Something that might even make me seem attractive, cool, and delicious. No. I am never reading a book like that in public – or if I am, that’s not when handsome men approach me. It’s always when I’m reading a book about Srebenica with a human skull lying in the weeds on the front cover. “Uhm … yeah … I’m reading about genocide on this hot summer day. Hi, my name is Sheila.”
OR – even worse – I am reading a book with a title like: “You Can Be Special Because You Already Are.”
It’s like clockwork. Handsome man on subway, in pub. “What are you reading?”
oh for christ’s sake I think … yet again I have a book with Hitler on the cover, or Stalin, or a huge swastika or a photo of a mass grave … OR it’s a book like “He’s Not That Into You”. DAMMIT.
There’s actually a funny comedy sketch in here somewhere.
The man sees the pile of skulls in the Killing Fields, emblazoned across my book, and backs slowly away … sorry he asked the question.
No, I’m just kidding. I actually have had some great conversations with strangers – because I am always reading in public – and more often than not it is some book about the Balkans or Central Asia or the Aral Sea drying up … and sometimes the person asking “what are you reading?” is interested in those topics, too and has something interesting to add.
But I still find it amusing.
“What are you reading?”
“Death and Destruction in World War II.”
“What are you reading?”
“Ethnic Cleansing in the Balkans: Then and Now.”
“What are you reading?”
“Dictators Through the Millennia.”
“What are you reading?”
“Act Like a Happy Little Flower And Let the Miracles Manifest.”
Sigh.
Danny took it upon himself to pack our books when we moved. As he was working on the two shelves (five feet each) of true crime books, he looked up and said, “I hope I’m never murdered, ’cause your ass will be grass.”
HAHAHAHAHA
Yeah, you wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.
“Uhm … I’m just interested in killing? Uhm ….”
this is hilarious. i vividly remember reading ‘rise and fall of the third reich’ on the subway and feeling that damn swastika radiate like sonar to whales.
i covered it up, i think.
‘hey whatcha readin’?’
when i wrote ‘this is hilarious’ i was referring to your post, not what i was about to write. should have inserted a comma there.
i would love to see a short film of this.
On the bright side, you’re more likely to meet a handsome and INTERESTING guy with eclectic reading choices – the cute dude who says “I’ve been meaning to get to that! Have you seen the new one about Catharine the Great’s foreign policy with England during George III’s reign? Here, let me show you a picture of my cat attacking a bottlecap.”
I mean, 8 million people in the city, you’ve got to meet that one eventually!
/”Act Like a Happy Little Flower And Let the Miracles Come To You.”/
Hahahahahahaha!
Here, let me show you a picture of my cat attacking a bottlecap.
hahahahahaha
Yeah, THAT guy has not shown up yet. It’s mostly vague glances, and mild fear … hahahaha as I show them my book with a pile of skulls on it.
hahhathis post made me laughhh——i will make one of those paper bag covers for you if you read that book i gave you (north star!!).
i just got that ‘i now am about to tell you that i will indeed kill your family in every which way’ book you recommended from amazon today so i feel your pain.
i now am about to tell you that i will indeed kill your family in every which way
siobhan, I seriously cannot stop laughing. I read your comment over 3 hours ago and I am still laughing!!!! I think it’s the “indeed” that really put me over the edge.
… radiate like sonar to whales
That is the most awesome thing ever. I totally know that feeling. I remember reading Philip Roth on the subway and mashing my flattened palm down on the page to cover up the dirty sex stuff lest my neighbors to my left and right read over my shoulder and think me a pervert.
Not sure why I felt responsible. I didn’t write it.
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