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Guilty Pleasures

I hate it when people talk about guilty pleasures as though there's something wrong with enjoying whatever it is. Take disco for example. Not my thing, but there's definitely a thing there to enjoy. Why not just declare that you like disco and then stare people down who try to make you feel like an idiot for liking it?

Gee, am I projecting much? It turns out I have a guilty pleasure. Choose Your Own Adventure books. I almost called them novels but they aren't.

I've never read these before. These were the books that kids who didn't like to read picked up because they had to choose something when the Reading Is FUNdamental people came around. I read James and the Giant Peach and they read The Mystery of Echo Lodge (Choose Your Own Adventure, No 42). I read Charlotte's Web and they read The Mardi Gras Mystery (Choose Your Own Adventure, No 65). I was happy. They were happy.

Until last week. I was going through a bunch of boxes filled with books that a woman left to our library system. If you live in my town, you might even know her -- she was a nice, eccentric woman prone to interesting rants now and then at townhall meetings.

I'll tell you about some of the really interesting books that she left us in another post.

In one of the boxes under a copy of the Codex Seraphinianus (which is worth a post all on its own--this is an amazing acquisition) were a few stacks of Choose Your Own Adventure books, tied with string. I was tired and needed a break, so I popped one open.

All of a sudden I feel like I can finally see the picture in those illusion books.


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Update: Jan 31, 2003 -Vacation Prank Disclosure: This entry actually penned by: therobbergirl