I was reading Lazy Reviewer (which is all I do now; I took three weeks off work and thought, maybe I’ll finally read Proust, or finish Moby Dick, but instead I decided to just read Lazy Reviewer because if you refresh it every other minute, THERE WILL BE A NEW POST) and it reminded me of one of the many instances in which my parents’ inability to do things normally ruined my life.
Like any child, I read Little Women. Cut to some years later. I’m at my friend N’s house, mentioned here before, and we are talking about Little Women, in between watching Auntie Mame while wearing ball gowns and discovering that nightshade and belladonna are the same thing (also while wearing ball gowns).
Little Women is awesome, says I.
Yes, but it’s sad when Beth dies, says N.
Beth doesn’t die! says I.
Yes, she does, says N.
Beth gets sick, but then she gets better, says I.
Yes, but then she gets sick again and then she dies, says N.
When I got home, I went directly to the bookshelf and pulled my copy of Little Women down. I flipped to the last page: There, in tiny print, beneath the last line of the book, read the following: “Have you enjoyed Part I of Little Women? Purchase Part II forthwith!”
And then I realized that Beth dies. And that you should always read the fine print.