Cutting For Stone

I stayed up way too late last night finishing the book Cutting For Stone by Abraham Verghese. I liked it. But I wouldn't actually recommend it to anyone I personally knew because they might be all why did she want me to read THIS book? There's a lot of gross descriptive surgery scenes. And whores. A lot of sex with whores. But not a whole lot. Just a little bit, you know? But someone who might be a tad uptight might think that's just three whores too many, you know?

I had to finish it because I have to start our next book club book called The Kitchen House by Kathleen Grissom (no relation to CSI's Dr. Gil Grissom) before Book Club actually meets. And also because I just bought seven books from the library sale for a dollar. I may have to take a week off of work just to catch up on my reading.

As you can see I was being practically forced to stay up late reading - and it totally worked out because Big V was not even home. This is important for pleasant reading experience achievement because sometimes he likes to purposely interrupt my reading by attempting to draw me into conversations by saying stupid things like did you remember to make my lunch? You don't have to; I just thought it would be nice if you did or I can't believe [insert sports player name I've never heard of] just [insert sports related action which basically means the guy missed whatever he was supposed to do].

Meanwhile I'm fighting the urge to snap you never want to talk to me when we're having sex so why should I talk to you now when I'm reading?

Anyway. I read. And I read. And I read. And just when I thought I got to the part where they all live happily ever after I turned the page and realized the author had kept writing. As I thumbed through the remaining pages I thought how many chapters does this guy need to write 'and they all lived happily ever after'?

Except guess what?

[spoiler alert]

THEY DON'T LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER!

They don't live happily ever after at all. And I start crying. Like really crying. Tears streaming down my cheeks because I did not see that coming! And also, I do have a sense of compassion even though the majority of the people in the world would bet their paycheck that I didn't. And tears are dripping off my face and I'm sniffling and snorting (don't judge; like you've never ugly-cried before) and Big V comes bopping into the bedroom and starts yapping about how he just got home and he's probably going to take a shower because he's covered in grout and - hey, are you crying?

Yes, as a matter of fact, I am crying! What's it to you?

Why?

Why what?

Why are you crying? Is something the matter? What happened?

It's the book!

The book? The one you're reading?

What?

That book is making you cry?

Yes!

See, this is why I don't read. Literature can hurt.

(Oh, yes, but I wouldn't want it any other way.)

"You are an instrument of God. Don't leave the instrument sitting in its case, my son. Play! Leave no part of your instrument unexplored. Why settle for 'Three Blind Mice' when you can play the 'Gloria'?"  - Cutting For Stone