Stop! Oh, yes, wait a minute, Mr. Postman…
And allow me to point something out to you, pinhead. The mailbox at Shrinkytown does not have a flip-front opening, nor does it resemble a wide-mouth bass. One would think, going by your professional and vast experience delivering mail, that it would be bloody obvious how certain sized packages should NOT be crammed into the slot barely big enough for a love letter, or bill.
Allow me also, to thank you, so very much, for cracking the spine on my brand new book. It came all the way from another country. In case you didn’t quite get that, in case you’re not down with sarcasm, I’m cheesed off, fartwad.
I don’t know about y’all out there in Biteyland, but I’m kinda persnickety about my books, especially when they’re paperback. I am very careful when I read them and I take care to preserve the spine, the cover, and the pages. I may be exaggerating the damage a little. His At Night, my spanking new Sherry Thomas, has a lovely yellow cover ( that is rather similar to Anna Cambell’s My Reckless Surrender–Hello, Bantam did your art department talk to Avon?) that is unscathed. The top of the spine, however, has a nice dent, like a deep pockmark left behind by bad acne.
I feel so…ugly now, so ashamed.
Thank God for Swell and the gorgeous book covers she’s sewn for me. I can cover up the hideous scar with quilted beauty.
Besides offering unparalleled protection from gooky fingers and spills, Swell’s covers are like make-up for flawed, or damaged books. Swell makes things beautiful again.
She will make my Sherry Thomas the thing of glory that is once was.
But for now, until I get home, my injured Sherry Thomas will be obscured behind the veil of a pristine white envelope, and I will ease my pain with Chips Ahoy.