Sharing is caring, unless it’s a girly book

For some reason, I decided the husband needed to read one of the books I love. Maybe I thought it would alleviate the guilt I feel about my paperback hobby. I definitely thought it would be fun to finally have someone to talk to about books and authors. I contemplated which book he would be least likely to find overly focused on feelings, yet full of action movie things like helicopters and military. He can’t resist a movie with a submarines, but the only book I have with a sub is steampunk vampire focused and definitely not one he’d enjoy.

Eventually I decided on the first Ghostwalker book. I adore everything Christine Feehan writes, but she gleefully tortures the heroes of her stories so I knew I might be pushing it with all the psychological drama. It was still the option that best checks all the husband’s preferences.

What I didn’t count on was the damage that spending 60 hours a week writing code has done to his ability to focus. Unsurprisingly, all that staring at screens while listening to audiobooks in the background rewires your brain to be unable to focus on just one thing. He needs a three ring circus of stimuli. He read in such teeny tiny amounts before falling asleep or switching to other activities that it took him a year to finish that book.

“What did you think of the book?”
“It was okay.”

Since I read a three digit number of books in that timeframe, we are not going to be having our own book club anytime soon.

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