Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Books, pictures, adventures, revelation

So. What do you do when you can't shop for books?

You browse.

And maybe, just maybe, embark on a bookhunting adventure to see which books best lend themselves to picture-taking.

It all started when some of us discovered the fortuitously titled, Jarrettsville, and made Jarrett pose for a picture with it.

Jessi and I felt this was brilliant.

Jarrett disagreed.

I took this picture right as he said, "But I don't like taking pictures."
I know I've seen him look more despondent than this, but I honestly don't remember when.

So we left Jarrett and Brad sitting in some aisle and began to search for photographic opportunities.
You can find a lot.

Whether you want to or not.
Not cool, Mr. Patterson. Not cool.
Show some class with your murder mysteries.

You can learn other things, though.
Like the legacies of cute animals!

Or how to slay demons.
(The subject is clearly very important to her.)

Or about accessorizing your toy cars.
(Ultimately important.)

Or how to drink.
Just in case you need to know.

Or how to.....
wait, what?!

We fled in terror to the biography section.
I was pleased to see that Barnes still carries a few copies of my memoirs.

She wanted to pose with a 'good' comic.
Cody owns this, so I figured that counted for something.
You don't always have to appreciate the great works to take a picture with them.

She wanted to buy this for her future children.
It's a board book, and it seems a little disrespectful to chew on the President's face
(that is what board books are for, right?).
But then I remembered that I have a pocket-sized Gideon Bible that I apparently used as a teething ring, and kept quiet.
Okay fine, she probably wanted it for herself.

BUT THEN!


At long last, we found The Perfect Book.

It was the perfect book with the perfect and alliteratively named character and the perfect subject matter with which Jessi perfectly posed.

And in that moment, the harsh lights of the florescent bulbs softened and the shrieks of the children in the area faded to hushed tones as they began an open and respectful discourse on the symbolism of unappealing meals in Dr. Suess books and all the new books smelled old and the planets aligned and all was perfect.


In that perfect moment, we found peace and contentment. We realized that all of our missteps in the search had really been mere stepping stones to reach the perfection that was the classic tale of Frieda Fuzzypaws and her meal.

And in that perfect, rolliped, irretrievable, and magical moment (and this has nothing at all to do with our cheapness or being broke, but isn't it lucky that it worked out that way?), we realized we did not have to buy Suppertime for Frieda Fuzzypaws in order to enjoy it. That we had found it and taken The Perfect Picture with it was more than enough to restore wonder and delight to our weary souls. We had learned from the moment what we were meant to learn.

Jessi reverently placed the book back on the shelf, where it would greet some other searching pilgrim. I showed her the picture, then turned off the camera and placed it back in my pocket.

We returned to our friends, knowing in our hearts that this perfect moment would never fade from our memories. Rather, it would remain in our hearts and grow evermore hazily beautiful and spectacular as we would go on to recall our splendid adventure for years to come.

It will also live on in this post. It is both a record of our epically magnificent night and my gift to the world.

You are welcome, dear reader. May you treasure this tale always.

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