I love my kindle. I also love real books. Love their smell, especially if they are from the library. Love the feel of them in my hands. Love how I can easily be transported into the story world. But I’ve purchased more ebooks this year than real books. Borrowed more ebooks from the library than real books. There hasn’t been anything bad I could say about my Kindle.
I was deep into a wonderful, can’t-get-enough-of, ignoring-Husband-worthy novel. It was the end of the chapter. A totally aaawww inspiring moment and I couldn’t wait to read what was next.
Swipe. So exciting! How many more chapters can I get through before Husband sends me another dirty look and I absolutely have to put my Kindle down?
Swipe. Hey, why hasn’t the page turned yet.
Swipe . . . Swipe Am I not pressing hard enough?
SWIPE. Maybe the battery is low.
SWIPE! Nope. The battery is half-full.
SWIPE! Oh, no. It couldn’t possibly be.
SWIPE! SWIPE! Please, dear God, I will do anything. ANYTHING.
SWIPE! SWIPE! SWIPE!
*throw Kindle down on the couch* Stupid, frickin’ thing. If I was reading a real book, I would’ve realized the end was coming and have been prepared.
*push Kindle across couch cushion with flick of my hand* I’m never reading another book on there again.
. . .
*pick up Kindle, check for damages, hug it to my chest, open the cover, click the shopping basket icon* I wonder when I can download the next book in the series?