...my own brand of special...

i) Before the in-store speaking/signing event with Phillipa Gregory (author of The Other Boleyn Girl, launching her 5-city North American book tour at our store) I am chatting with the ladies first in line. This leads to my going on and on about how I love this series of novels, and am so psyched to meet her tonight, and I wish I could be in line with them but I have to work, and she has such a great fun style, and gush gush gush. From behind me, a British voice says "Excuse me, would you be able to let us into the back office, there doesn't seem to be anyone around there". Three guesses who.

ii) The glass was full of water and perched precariously on the end of the ottoman. I could have moved it to the desk. I could have found a coaster, a counter, anywhere more appropriate than unbalanced on the edge of a soft piece of furniture. Every now and then I glanced at it wearily as I stumbled through this essay, but really couldn't be bothered to move it. I had a feeling though, that I should. The phone rang and I moved abruptly to answer it, knocking the glass over. Worth the $21.99 for the set, my sturdy Ikea glass didn't break when it hit the carpet, but the water fell onto my new purse, textbook, and presentation notes, soaking them thoroughly. I swore, then shrugged. It was nothing more than what I deserved.