I can escape into a book. Really escape. My senses cease reacting, the world halts on its axis and my entire being is absorbed into the crisp paper neatly adorned with characters of freshly-printed ink. Honestly, it can be frightening for those around me.
From Charlotte to Atlanta the words of Emily Giffin’s The One and Only were transcribed onto my soul.
I sound like such a fan girl. In addition to the Harry Potter series, Giffin’s books are the only others to avoid adoption. (Does re-reading books count toward the coveted personal-pan pizza in the BookIt! Program?) She writes, I read.
Rolling into Atlanta, I had barely looked up from the final pages when we were greeted by an evening my college-self applauded.
Listen, folks. I can karaoke with the best. I’ll cover Conway Twitty or Sammy Kershaw and wow you with my inability to hit a key, any key — on or off.
Live-band karaoke? You win, 10 High.
I proudly recorded Nick’s performance like a true soccer mom. Maternal instincts, y’all. Maternal instincts.
Nick covers Rage: Killing in the name
Of note: Emily didn't pay me to endorse her book. Is that even a thing? No? Carry on.