I’m still getting over this

Last week, I came home from work and found a very offending article on the family room couch. My mother sat next to it.

“What is this?” I asked, although I knew full well what it was. I just didn’t want to face up to the reality of the situation.

“I just started reading it for my book club,” she replied.

“But how could you bring that into the house? Don’t you realize that it’s historically inaccurate, clunkily written and has the nutritional value of potato chips?”

“It seems all right so far,” she replied.

I threw up my hands. Every time I see her reading it, I cringe a little bit, wonder how the hell her book club could be so short-sighted. Couldn’t they be reading truly wonderful books, like the last book I read, Edward Jones’s THE KNOWN WORLD? Or the countless number of good crime fiction I keep giving my mother to read, but she never actually does?

So yes folks, THE DA VINCI CODE is in my house. And my mother is reading it. And there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.

The agony will be over soon. Yesterday, I asked what she thought of the book.

“I keep turning the pages but it’s really not very good.”

The book will be out of the house soon. Couldn’t come fast enough for me.