
It has come to my attention that people continue to pretend to enjoy reading outside.
Like any romantic person, I’m sympathetic in theory. Actors in movies look great tucked into the crotch of some mighty oak with a classic spread open in their lap, or laid out on a beach towel in oversize sunglasses.
But in practice? Reading outside sucks. I suspect people who insist on reading outside read books only when they can be seen reading books, which is to say that reading for them isn’t what reading is for me.
