Curious feelings

I am a curious person by nature (there are countless ‘hilarious’ family anecdotes about my curiosity turning into downright staring and stalking); I like to know what people are talking about, what they are doing, and more than anything I love seeing what they are reading. Naturally, I judge them on all of these actions, but none more so than reading. But even though I’m judging, a big part of me gets all warm and fuzzy at the sight of someone reading a book in public. When I think about it, it’s probably really patronising of me to get all gooey at the sight of people reading, like it’s some quaint little habit that only I love doing, when the truth is that shitloads of people read and I am not in any way alone in my obsession. Anyway, I can’t control the feels.

I also have this thing that once I see a person reading, I automatically like them. A lot. They could be the worst person in the world, but if they are reading a book, their sins are forgotten.

Exhibit A: The girl that lives below me has always seemed like a bit of a bitch (total bitchy, resting face). She never says hello, even though we have both lived in the same building for years, if I’m lucky, she’ll grunt something at me if I hello-bomb her first, but usually I am met (or not as the case may be) with classic eye-avoidance. But then I heard from boyfriend, who catches the bus with her (and no, he doesn’t get a hello either), that she reads on the bus every morning. So now I kind of like her. Does it matter that so far he’s only seen her reading 50 Shades of Grey? Not really…I kinda like how ballsy she is just reading that guy out in public, rather than getting it on her Kindle or hiding it in the pages of another book like the rest of us.

Exhibit B: Vicky from MTV’s Geordie Shore, a detestable, sometimes verging on the psychotic, contestant (/star/cast member?). A typical Vicky lowlight, illustrating her detestability, was when she spat on one of her fellow housemates because she didn’t like the home truths he was dishing out. Actually spat on him. Right in his face. What a heinous individual you are thinking. And I thought so too, until the next episode when they showed a clip of her sitting on the couch reading a book. Suddenly all memory of the spit went out the window and I found myself composing love poems to her. The girl took a book into a house that was created purely for boozing, fighting, partying, hooking-up, spitting, and all the other things young kids do. How could I not love her for that? I can’t even get my boyfriend to bring a book into our actual house; nay chance he’d take a book into the Geordie Shore house.

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