(no subject)

Okay, I have to post the entire passage now, because I'm still laughing about it this morning.



It was not until [Psmith] had entered a florist's shop on the way to the tryst that it was borne in upon him that the adventure was going to have its drawbacks. The first of these was the chrysanthemum. Preoccupied with the rest of the communication, Psmith, when he had read the letter, had not given much thought to the decoration which it would be necessary for him to wear; and it was only when, in reply to his demand for a chrysanthemum, the florist came forward, almost hidden, like the army at Dunsinane, behind what looked like a small shrubbery, that he realised what he, a correct and fastidious dresser, was up against.

"Is that a chrysanthemum?"

"Yes, sir. Pink chrysanthemum."

"One?"

"Yes, sir. One pink chrysanthemum."

Psmith regarded the repellent object with disfavour through his eyeglass. Then, having placed it in his buttonhole, he proceeded on his way, feeling like some wild thing peering through the undergrowth. The distressing shrub completely spoiled his walk.

***

Okay, so what was going through my mind as I read this was something along these lines: "Chrysanthemum. Oh, those are pretty. Wait. They're kind of big."

(no subject)

Book 46: Leave It to Psmith, by PG Wodehouse. 245pp

This has definitely been a foray into a world of literature yet untapped by yours truly. Indirectly highly recommended by one krikketgirl at some point in the past.

The plot is full of twists, convolutions, coincidences, and mayhem. Which, definitely, makes for a fascinating read. I wouldn't say I was laughing hysterically for about 97% of the time, but I was vastly entertained by such phrases as "a depressing musty scent pervaded the place, as if a cheese had recently died there in painful circumstances". Very enjoyable on the whole, and a pleasant introduction to something fresh and different. I'm sure I will be visiting the pages of more Wodehouse in the future.

I think after lunch I may go to the library again armed with my list of recommendations from yesterday and bring home some more words to devour.

(no subject)

Well, I went to the library again today, returned Psmith, and came home with four more books. A friendly librarian urged me to use the self-checkout, which was a fascinating experiment that almost didn't work. I like the middle-aged librarians much better than the younger, blond one who is almost always there and (I'm gathering) is in charge because I have often seen the others defer to her. I can't quite lay my finger on what it is, but I think she would start grating on my nerves very quickly if I had to work with her.

The lady who helped me today was very chatty and started talking about one of the authors I had selected and recommending other of his titles left and right. That was certainly not expected and I liked it. It reminded me of Sherri, the librarian in Pinehurst when I was little, who was always so chipper and would go to great lengths to find books for my avidly book-devouring family.

I'm really tired right now. It's starting to warm up. Glad I went to the library when I did, because it's too hot to go out now. Besides the fact that my internal water balloon causes me aches and pains when I get up and move around.

So I've been sitting, reading, and periodically watching some infant extremity protrude fleetingly through my skin like a Space Special ragtime alien about to emerge.

*hour later.... I got waaaaaay too sidetracked watching Mel Brooks clips on YouTube.......*