I hear about Mrs. Funnybones. I hear more things about Mrs. Funnybones. I hear even more things about Mrs. Funnybones. So I decide I HAVE to read Mrs. Funnybones.
Because.
EVERYONELOVESMRSFUNNYBONES!
So I place the damn order. And wait with bated breath (just the expression, I’m not going to deprive myself of air over a stupid book). And Amazon takes its own sweet time doing its delivery thingamajig, further causing expectations to increase. By the time it gets to me, I’m ready to rip the packaging off and dive in head first.
Five pages later, I’m like, dude, this is…ugh…what were they raving about?!!
And then spend the next three days justifying the choice to pay hard-earned money for that.
And then spend the next three days justifying the choice to pay hard-earned money for that.
-__-
Because.
EXPECTATIONS, BRO!!
I managed to successfully ruin The Girl on the Train and a hair dresser this way, two blips on the pop culture wasteland that is my life.
:/
Why do I do this to myself?
So there. This is me declaring right here that popular opinion is going to be taken with a pinch of salt, especially for books. I’d rather be sitting on the roadside as the band wagon passes me by and discover perfectly gorgeous somethings than sit inside the cozy band wagon and stew in the mediocrity of my own choices.
Sheesh.
P.S: Is he gorgeous, or is he gorgeous?
