I read a book a few days ago called The Cost of Living. I picked it up in the library simply because of the title. It’s autobiographical of sorts. Not my typical style.
The author in the book, who lives in London, has an electric bicycle. This is her normal mode of transportation. She uses it rain or shine and, my impression was, for pretty much all her commuting.
Once I finished the book, I passed it to Jodi to read. A book such as this I usually give to her so that we can discuss what we took from it.
Jodi was reading it and began laughing. Through her scrunched up face, oriental squinted eyes, tears rolling down her chipmunk cheeks, and belly laughing, she was able to cough out, “She had road rage while she was riding her electric bicycle.”
“Yeah.” I commented.
“That’s something I could see myself doing,” she said.
“Well, yeah. You get walker’s rage if someone in the store isn’t going fast enough in front of you or cuts you off.”
She laughed harder, “I know . . . You read this whole book and never made a peep. I’m in the middle of it and laugh out loud.”
“I thought there were some funny sections. I just didn’t find them THAT funny. You do know it’s the stuff we most relate to that we find the funniest.”
“Yeah, I know,” and she continued her reading.
Further in the book, the author recounts one trip in the rain on her electrobike where her grocery bag split open and spilled its contents, a raw chicken, some tangerines, and a sprig of rosemary are what I remember, all over the road. The chicken was run over by a car and she simply allowed the tangerines to roll down the hill. She recovered the chicken and proceeded to take it home and cook it for dinner.
Jodi busts out laughing again.
“What’s so funny this time,” I inquire.
“Oh, you’re still on that section?”
Her still laughing, “What . . .?? No, I’m about 30 more pages into the book. What are you talking about?”
“You were laughing at the road rage some time ago and now you are talking about the chicken?”
“Well, yeah, this is a different story now.”
“Ah…Right. I got my stories mixed together.”
Jodi starts laughing even harder at my blunder. Tears are really rolling down her cheeks now. She returns to the book, “ . . . twice killed chicken . . .” and laughs even more. “This is why I try not to read books at the library . . .”
I laugh softly and smile, “Yeah, I can see that.”
She finally recomposes herself and returns to the book.
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