You Can Never Have Too Many Books, Especially When They're Your Own

Baroy and I went out last night with our friends M and G for what we realized was our 11th annual celebration of my and G’s birthdays. (He’s three years and four days older than me.) We went to a steakhouse in our neighborhood (which was delicious), so M and G met us at our house beforehand, and we did our exchange of gifts there.

They handed my gift to me, and said it was ‘themed.’ First was a list of great quotes from writers, then was a Cross pen (which, believe it or not, I’ve never owned before), and then was five copies of my book.

“We couldn’t believe it when you told us back before Christmas that you hardly had any copies of your own book,” they said with glee. “So we spent the whole day today going around to bookstores. Most of them were either sold out or only had one copy left. So we ended up going to five different cities and buying out your book in bookstores there, and making sure each one knew to restock.”

They were grinning, so proud of themselves.

Baroy and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. We couldn’t help it. M and G looked at each other, puzzled, and then G said, slowly, “Oh, no...”

“Come with me,” Baroy said.

He led them into our family room/office, to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf he had built there last year, and simply pointed to the top shelf. There sat most of the 30 copies of my book that my publisher sent me just a few weeks ago.

“Oh, no,” G said again, and then started to laugh.

“Oh, no!” M said, and joined him. “I can’t believe this!”

“Oh, please,” I said. “This is by far one of the sweetest presents I’ve ever gotten, ever.” And I picked up one of the copies they had bought for me, twisted open my new Cross pen, and wrote:

To G and M, my family, my friends. With love and gratitude,
TC