Or, Where I Got My Taste In Books
Me: Dad, I’m borrowing some of your books.
Dad: No, you’re not.
Me: I’m sorry, I phrased that badly. Daddy, I picked out some books of yours that I want. Can I have them?
Dad: No. … Which ones?
Me: About half of that shelf?
Dad: No! …Which half?
Me: Well, I’ve been jonesing to reread all the old Mercedes Lackey…
Dad: Maybe. You’re not touching my Tamora Pierce.
Me: Fine, I’ll borrow those from Jess.
Dad: Great, she can fight with you to get them back.
Me: No, we’re not related; I’m obligated to return hers.
Dad: Yeah, how does that feel for her? I wouldn’t know.
Me: Dad, you’re not getting your books back.
Dad: We’ll bargain.
Me: Can I take the Patricia C. Wrede? You have the two I didn’t find on PaperBackSwap.
Dad: The other two are in the garage. Not that I’m giving them to you. She’s great.
Me: I agree!