A friend asked if I'd like to do a program at the local library with her - a story time reading session for kids. I love that kind of thing - seeing a huddle of little faces listening attentively to a story being read to them out loud. And it's free. Great.
I had to decline. You see, there's something I have to confess. I can't go back to my local library. Maybe never again.
As we speak, library security people with menacing faces and large nets are waiting behind the doors to swipe at me and hold me captive in their library vault and torture me until I finally give in and admit I'm an awful, terrible library customer person.
You see, I owe them money. Eleven dollars and a few cents. Maybe more now - if they charge interest... oh crap, didn't think of that. Maybe now I owe eleven thousand dollars.
Actually it's not my fault - it's my son's. He decided to be born two weeks earlier than expected (nothing to do with me fulfilling a sudden urge to dig an 8 x 4' vegetable patch in the rain) and I had borrowed all these magnificent titles from the library - things like The Idiots Guide To Not Dropping Your Baby On His Head In The First Week.*
And as I sat with my new bundle of soft wonderfulness in my arms - a first time mum, prouder than proud and completely absorbed by my baby, the books were left, abandoned on the shelf. Occasionally I'd catch sight of them on my way to a diaper change and think Not now, books. Who are actually no help to me whatsoever and much more suited to gathering dust on my shelf.
Eventually I did return them to the library. But instead of going in and paying the stupid fee like a normal person, I dropped the books into the little return slot in the library wall with some kind of half-hearted intention of paying it another time. Or something. Yeah right.
And I never did. And I kept thinking... must pay that library fee... must do it soon... really really must do it soon.... And now it's two years later and I still haven't paid it.
Now? They probably have my name on their indelible red ink list of BAD CUSTOMERS THAT SHALL NEVER BORROW A BOOK OR GRACE THE STEPS OF OUR ESTABLISHMENT AGAIN.
But I want to borrow their dusty old books. I want to take Matthew to their free reading classes. And I want to peruse the shelves just because I feel like it.
So, soon I shall go in, tail between legs and pay the silly fine.
Because who knows when I might need to borrow something useful like How To Toilet Train Your Toddler Without Any Peeing Bunnies Or Other Strange Props*. Or Something.
*Not real books. Just plain silliness.