WSU Auction and Hair

Old Hair

New Hair

Well the auction this month was sadly lacking. Nothing really amazing, I spent a good amount of time looking at the book section, sometimes something rare and amazing will appear. Not my luck this visit, no this visit, instead of a good book, I found the indecisive, hovering, stands to close, book stalker. I don't know if you've had the pleasure of meeting this gentleman, dear reader. You might have met his wife, the vocal garage sale bargain hunter, in your Saturday morning adventures. Unlike his wife he does not know what he wants, but he does know where it is, it is right next to the books you are looking at. He is so worried that you or someone else might find that which he seeks that he ignores personal space, and all the rules that keep society afloat, that keep man from descending to the level of the beasts. When he first sidled up to me, I found myself thinking "Oh! Hello! You're close. . . . .uncomfortably. . . . . . . . . .close". I tried to shake him, only to find myself, my books rather being pursued. When I realized what he was after I decided that I was going to have as much fun with this as I could.

Will he follow me?

Sure enough, if I paused anywhere and pulled out a book or two, he was there, if I lingered too long he would move in closer, to get a better look, if he was interested even closer still. At first it was fun to see just how far he follow me, once that got old I decided to see just how close he would get, if I stood my ground. It got to the point where I would look at a book on an upper shelf, stoop down to the lower shelf, only to have him lean and reach over me to get at the upper shelf books. I was having way too much fun, this odd, indecisive, little, round headed man chasing me thru the stacks. I say indecisive because while he gazed at the books with a solemnity that I could not even begin to muster, they were always found to be lacking, but just lacking, as he would drift back, or pick them up and carry them for a while and then deposit them once again on the shelf, and start his collection afresh. At ten cents a tome, I can understand how these choices warred against his soul. In the end we both found that the shelves held little for us, and went our separate ways.

I like Moose

Lily

Something Pink

Oh look . . . . . . another flower

Another Pink Something

Not a Wild Rose

Wild Rose

Sorry about all the flower shots lately, I've been to busy to scope out cool locations, and as the flowers are here. . . . . . . . . .