Robert and I have just finished reading our 157th book together.
That probably needs a bit of explanation. Quite a while ago, we started reading books when we were in the car, 90% of the time with HR driving and me reading out loud (or perhaps taking a quick beauty nap).
Nerd that I am, I keep a record of our readings.
We are eclectic readers, with novels, philosophy, mythology, history, poetry, self-help (at my insistence), religion, etc. on our list.
The book we just finished, Boyfriend Material, is pure escape fiction, a hilarious and heartwarming novel about two opposites: Luc, the messy and often-scandal-ridden son of two aging rock stars and Oliver, a perfectionist English barrister. The story follows the trajectory of their unlikely romance.
At one point Luc decides he must clean up his beyond-filthy apartment before inviting Oliver over.
Here’s Luc …
I’ll let him tell the story …
“At 9 o’clock on Tuesday night, halfway through an episode of Bordertown, I came abruptly to the conclusion that all of my problems would be solved if I tidied my flat. At 9:36 on Tuesday, I came abruptly to the conclusion that this had been the worst idea ever.
I had started trying to put things in places, but the places where I wanted to put the things were already full of things that weren’t the things that were supposed to go in those places, but there were no places to put the things that came from the places, so I then tried to put things back in the places, but they wouldn’t go back in the places, which meant now I had more things and nowhere to put the things, and some of the things were clean and some of the things were very much not clean, and the very much not clean things were getting mixed up with the clean things, and everything was terrible and I wanted to die.
I tried to lie on the floor and sob pathetically, but there was no room.”
This is exactly why I am a minimalist.