I am here to tell you, my fellow apprehensive bibliophile, to NOT click that article in the New York Times this morning. Just don't do it.
That's what some very smart part of me told myself this morning as I scanned through the top articles. Hmm, I thought, something called A Dark and Itchy Night seems to be quite popular.
Never one to waste one of my ten free articles for the month (I hate this about you, NYT), I hovered over the link for content clues from the URL. Numbers, dots, some slashes, and then--THEN: bedbugs-hitch-a-ride-on-library-books.html.
That small fraction of my brain that actually seems to have my best interests in mind stepped up immediately. Don't do it, LCB. You're going to freak yourself out. Just don't read it. Come on. Don't.
Do you think I listened?
I did not.
I clicked and I read and I cringed and I squirmed and I itched and I looked toward our numerous bookshelves with fear and suspicion.
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| Go forth baby elephant, and trumpet! Trumpet the danger for all to hear! |
Books, my precious books! Books from antique stores and Half-Price Books and Powell's and second-hand shops and that thing on Amazon where you can "buy used for $3.46." All are now suspect. And all are already IN MY HOME.
All of that was nearly enough for me to decide never to leave my house again, nor buy, use, or even look at anything, from any place, ever.
Instead I made myself take a nap, which is often a good remedy for stopping a thought pattern from reaching hurricane level.
I am happy to report that I woke up bite-free.