A Minuscule Story About Why Librarians Dislike Me

The library that I normally visit during the summer is within walking distance from my house. It's a big old building—old down to the weathered bricks and fallen shingles. And when I go there, I usually receive nasty "oh God it's her again" glances from the head librarian.

Her royal highness, the head librarian is the lady with the alligator purse. Or how I imagine her to be. She has jet black hair cropped just above her chin, skin that's only a few shades darker than paper, and wears lipstick that drips from her lips and is the exact color of the Target target.

At first I thought she hated me because my favorite time to stop by was four fifty-three on a friday afternoon. When her menacing stares persisted, I began to wonder.

I finally figured out why she disliked me when I saw her pick up a huge blue stamp from her desk and stamp it on the inside cover of one of the books I had returned. "Withdrawn," it read in fat black letters. Then there were the library fines. Who knew it was possible to be fined eight dollars for a book?

In short, I'm a book murderer. It's a violent relationship. Through missing covers, cracked spines, dog-eared pages, being strewn in the bottoms of bags, ink in the margins, taped up covers, highlighted sentences, long car rides, and countless re-readings, I simply love my books too much. Some of them are more tape than paper.

Okay, perhaps a few of those details were over-exaggerated. Only once did I get a nasty glare from the head librarian (but I'm dead serious when I say she looks like the alligator purse woman).

These are a few of my books. I bought a roll of packing tape solely for book emergencies. I'm quite an accomplished novel doctor. That Goblet of Fire may look nice-ish, but it's sixty percent tape.

"Central Themes: purpose of art, youth and beauty, influence Also: use of white symbol of influence turns to one of sin and death; Hooray, my very own book to write in!! Sorry for the folded-down pages, next person who reads this . . . :)"

Oh, and whoever had my copy of Dorian Gray before I did took the liberty of writing in the margins for me. Now I don't feel so guilty!

The moral of this story? Never swallow a horse.