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A book on the nightstand

In my bedroom there is a queen sized bed. And two nightstands.

They don’t match. And I don’t care. It’s eclectic.

But as I was making my bed yesterday, I picked up the book that had been in my hands when I fell asleep the night before and set it on the nightstand to the right of my bed.

The extra nightstand.

Seems like an insignificant act.

But a light bulb went off in my head.

I’ve recently been chatting with a guy from Match.com (yeah, my 3 month experiment has turned into a 6 month experiment because I failed to “cancel” before their overzealous renewal process auto-renewed me).

He seems to be a nice guy.

Probably a gentleman.

But he’s mentioned more than once that he doesn’t read.

Like, at all.

Not that he can’t, I don’t think.

He shared that he’s read five books in his whole life.

Maybe this shouldn’t be a deal breaker. After all, he seems to be a nice guy in lots of other ways.

It’s kind of like this: if I were a music lover and my boyfriend didn’t like music, then it would be hard to share about one of the most important things in my life.

Or if I loved college basketball and spent every waking minute of the weekend watching it, but my partner couldn’t care less about any sporting event ever, then it would be hard to share about one of the most important things in my life.

Or if I were an arachnologist and was on a quest to find rare spiders and my boyfriend was arachnophobic, that could be a problem, yes?

It’s not like he said he doesn’t like spinach. I could work around that.

Or even that he doesn’t like yard work. Or that he doesn’t see the value in recycling.

He doesn’t care to partake in one of the most significant chunks of my life.

I guess if I were seriously attracted and there were other things we might have in common, it might be worth investing more time.

But I want a book on the second nightstand.

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