For my birthday—which was months ago, no apology necessary for you having missed it, granted I remembered yours what with the card and the flowers and the travel mug, but it’s not a game, there’s no oneupmanship here; people are born everyday so let’s quit making a big deal of it, no real accomplishment—my brother promised to build me a bookcase, which naturally I assumed would be the equivalent of a few boards sandwiched between some cinder blocks. Not like this one.I am in love. It is glorious. It would be even better were it not almost completely full, and I haven't even gotten all the books off the floor yet. There's always some boards and cinder blocks, I suppose.
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