One of the cabinet shelves have collapse under the weight. Frankly it never occurred to me exactly how heavy books are until we moved to the new place, and I could finally stack them on the shelves properly instead of stowing them all over the place. The weight of all the knowledge, I suppose, though many would argue that there is not much real knowledge found in trashy romance novels....
Anyway, I have managed to shore back the collapse shelf, except that all it is good for now are shoes. That would have been the ideal case for most girls, I guess, but now a good portion of my babies have been displaced and my other shelves are starting look somewhat overloaded. Mum's worries that the bookshelves will collapse one day and bury me in multitudes of love stories may just come true.
I suppose I have to start another round of culling, which I hate. It is like asking a mother of twenty to kill of her least favorite children because the house can only accommodate ten. I am putting it off as long as I can, but the other shelves are showing signs of strain so I can't avoid it for much longer.
Many people ask me why I keep such a large collection of romance novels at home. Ultimately, the plots are all similar: boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, boy marries girl (not necessary in that order). I must have hundreds of redundant stories on hand. Strange no one EVER ask mystery or thriller lovers the same question. After all how many different ways are there to commit a murder and (not) get away with it? And why can I not classify my romance novels as literature when those anime comic lovers call theirs art?
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