Sex and Bookstores (000–099)

I love books. Bookstores and libraries just feel like home. But . . . whenever I’m in one, I want to rearrange all the categories. Throw caution to the wind and eliminate the Dewey Decimal System (with apologies to my Librarian friends). I believe bookshelves should be labeled with names that make sense. Like when you are in the “self help” section. Let’s just scrap that and call it — “priorities.”

I just want to walk up to the shelf and pick one (a priority). All these crazy self-help books labeled “fuck feelings.” I like feelings, I just want to deal with how monumentally overwhelming they are at the moment.

And I don’t want to read a book about sex, I just want to have sex. At 43, I don’t need a tutorial or the freaking Kama Sutra. How about we not even have books in this section? How about we have chairs where those of us who need it, can meet and decide if the person standing in front of us is worth the effort? That’s the “I’m lonely, you’re lonely” section. Couples who have never met could toss a coin to decide if they are going to get it on or hold hands and cry. Seems more authentic to me. No books. Just condoms and kleenex. (Sounds like college.)

Another section could be “get lost in a better world.” I like that section, I’d spend a lot of money there. I think we all would.

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