The most unbelievable luck

So there was a book fair today, right, and do you know what I bought for one dollar, one dollar?

A shiny clean hardback of Crocodile on the Sandbank. For a dollar. A hundred pennies.

Wow.

I also got hardbacks of To Kill a Mockingbird, The Adventures of King Midas, Stuart Little, The Trumpet of the Swan, Thursday’s Child, Mr. Popper’s Penguins, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, Twilight, and The Little Lame Prince. All of these things, plus some assorted paperbacks, for a grand total of $20.10. I am one happy camper.

Edit on Friday to add: Oh I am so happy.  Today I got Shadow of the Moon in hardback, an earlier edition evidently than the one my mother has, as it is differently organized (more focus on Alex, it seems) and shorter.  I also got a book of Audubon for my father, a book of Robert Browning, a sweet little Latin grammar from the late 1890s,  and a book entitled The Tremaynes and the Masterful Monk, which now that I investigate turns out to be the third in a series of books by an ex-Anglican Catholic convert.  I foresee great things for me and Masterful Monk.  If nothing else, its title never fails to make me giggle.  Masterful Monk.  Oh, God, life’s too good.

Confession

I am a bad blogger, both here and on my regular blog.  This is because I am insanely busy with schoolwork (ugh, it never ends), and trying to secure my future in 500-1000 words; and when all that business is over with, I will still be a bad blogger because I have just discovered that in spite of being initially very unimpressed with Buffy the Vampire Slayer, it is actually a lot like crack cocaine in that I absolutely cannot stop now that I have started.  This is true to such a vast extent that I have had to give all the Buffy DVDs I borrowed from my sister to my mother to hide from me, so that I can’t put off writing my paper by watching Buffy.

Sheesh.

I just have to say

I’m in the middle of The Semi-Detached House, and I’m definitely much more charmed by it than I was by The Semi-Attached Couple. I like Blanche so far much more than I did Helen, and I am now definitely feeling the Jane-Austen-esque but bitchier thing. Behold:

“Are you going to this concert, Baroness?”

“No; it seems odd, but we are not asked this time,” said the Baroness, with an air of modest pride. “I suspect we are out of favour at Court, but a Drawing-Room is my aversion, and I have been sadly remiss this year; absolutely neglected the Birthday, which was very naughty of me, and so I am left out of this party.”

As that had been invariably her fate with regard to all parties at the Palace, the resignation she evinced had probably become a matter of habit; but she hinted an intention of bringing the Queen to her senses by staying away from the next Drawing-Room too.