moment of forgiveness

four years ago, a family member that i'm not particularly fond of gave me an alice munro book for my birthday. maybe she was trying to cater to the fact that i like books. maybe it was a convenient gift, maybe one of her friends gave it to her and she wanted to get rid of it...

that stupid book has sat on my shelf ever since then, rotting away, never having been read. every time i look at it, my dislike for this person grows. i don't really know why - i don't have an active interest in alice munro either way. i think it's the fact that this relative felt that she knew me well enough to buy me something as personal as a book. she probably could have bought just about anything else and stayed on close to my good side. but buying a bibliophile a book is like buying strings for a musician. you just don't do it unless you're on very intimate terms with them and know EXACTLY what they would want. if one or both of those conditions cannot be met, you get them a gift certificate. period. those are the rules.

four years later, i'm almost ready to forgive her for the book and everything it represents. almost.