Just discovered that it is more fun reading a book than watching a movie. It gives more scope for imagination than a movie. You can imagine a lot about the characters, locations and almost everything. Like shall I put this guy a beard or what car I should give him if it is not already mentioned . Even better, you can think of people around you and make them the characters in the book. Believe me, it is fun.
BTW, I am currently reading the "The Undomestic Goddess" by Sophie Kinsella. It is about a highly ambitious workaholic woman (I am still in the middle of this book). Wanna a read part ?
"And I did just happen to notice that one of them came back missing a button" she adds. "The pink and white stripe."
"Oh,right" I say."Well... that's OK. I'll send it back. They won't charge."
"You can pop a button on yourself, dear!" Mrs.Farley is shocked."It won't take you two minutes. You must have a spare button in your workbox ?"
My what ?
"I don't have a workbox" I explain as politely as I can."I don't really do sewing."
"You can sew a simple button on, surely!" she exclaims.
"No,"I say, a bit rankled at her expression. "But it's no problem. I will send it back to the dry cleaners."
Mrs. Farley is appalled. "You can't sew a button on ? Your mother never taught you ? "
I stifle a laugh at the thought of my mother sewing on a button. "Er...no. She didn't."
"In my days" says Mr. Farley, shaking her head, "all well-educated girls were taught to how to sew a button. darn a sock, and turn a collar."
None of these means nothing to me. Turn a collar. It's gibberish.
"Well, in my days ... we weren't," I reply politely. "We were taught to study for our exams and get a career worth having. We were taught to have opinions. We were taught to use our brains," I can't resist adding.
Mrs. Farley doesn't seem impressed. "It's a shame" She says at last, and pats me sympathetically.
I'm trying to keep my temper, but I've worked for hours, I feel bone -tired and hungry, Ketterman is living two floors above me -- and now this old women's telling me to sew on a button ?
"It's not a shame," I say tightly.
"All right, dear," says Mr.Farely in pacifying tones, and heads across the hallway to her flat.
Somehow this goads me even more
"How is it a shame?" I demand, stepping out of my doorway."How? OK, may be I can't sew on a button. But I can restructure a corporate finance agreement and save my client thirty million pounds". That's what I can do."
Mrs. Farley regards me from her doorway. "It's a shame," She repeats, as though she didn't even hear me. "Good night, dear". She closes the door and emit a squeal of exasperation.
"Did you never hear of feminism ?" I cry at her door. But there's no answer.
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