Read Alice Munro by ourselves at the library!

Want to consume realist short stories about about unrequited love in rural Ontario this weekend? Neither do we!

That’s why none of us will spend Friday noon silently reading Alice Munro at the library down the street. We will not drink matcha we order online out of contingo portable mugs to blot out the sadness of enduring another season of holidays in lonesome isolation.

Luckily for us, we don’t come from sad families with whom we no longer speak. We still perfectly enjoy drinking alcohol, going to social gatherings and having casual sex we will likely be doing one or more of those. This, presumably, after we have lovely reassuring interactions with our close families who bear responsibility for our lack of intimacy issues and generational trauma.

We get along with our roomates and would stay home and read, also we have plenty of money to buy books whenever, moreover, we don’t use the public library ever or have roomates we are rich & live in bliss palaces.

If anyone by some wild series of errors showed he’d usually read quietly in one of the cushioned chairs by the window - typically eating some of those japanese flavored Kit Kats from a backpack. Almost through moons of Jupiter (they have like 6 of her books left there though last week) perhaps he’d swap it for Hateship, friendship, courtship, love and marriage depending on how much reading he’d get done this workweek.