I walked into the bathroom and noticed that there was a book sitting on the back of the toilet. Now, I like to read. Wait, that’s not quite right, I love to read. I have books strewn from one end of the house to the other, and my nightstand is currently harboring 3 current reads. But the book sitting there in the bathroom was not mine; neither did I put it there.
When Gila Man came in the house from outside, I asked him why the book was there.
“What book?” he said.
“Um, the only book in the bathroom.” I replied.
“Well, that’s my book, so I thought I’d read it.” he said.
“But…you don’t read.” I reminded him.
“I can read!” he cried, incredulous.
“I didn’t say that you can’t read, only that you don’t.” I quickly replied.
“I read.” he said.
“Yeah, your scriptures every Sunday morning. AT church, DURING sacrament. On your iPod! That’s it.”
Indignant, he retorted, “Hey, I study my scriptures during the week while I’m preparing my lesson for Sunday School. That counts.”
“Ok,” I said, “But that doesn’t explain why there is a non-scripture type book resting peacefully on the back of the toilet.”
“It was a gift, so I thought I would read it.” he explained.
“Soooo…” I reasoned, “If I give you a book, you’ll read it?”
“Well, no. Don’t spend the money that I earn on a book that I won’t read.” he said.
“Alright, then you don’t read.” I cried, feeling that I had totally caught him in his ‘I read’ ploy.
“Yes, I do.” he said, rolling his eyes at me, “I read Stop signs, and…and, a LOT of things like that. Every day! So why would I need a book for?”
I give up.