Spontaneous overtime. My soul is ouch.
Hurrah for newly discovered old things!!!
I've known about the author O. Henry (pen name) for a while. My dad read me a story by him when I was a kid. The other week when he went to B.C., my dad got a big collection of his short stories and I'm reading them at random.
THEY ARE SO GOOD!! They are super light-hearted in the Stephen Leacock sense. They're nice to read cuz I know I won't burst into tears at work and cause my coworkers endless confusion. I'm a fan! Also, I had never heard a woman riding a bicycle compared to a sack full of angry cats slung over a clothesline.
O. Henry has also reaffirmed my theory that American literature is obsessed with happy endings (Steinbeck is an exception who makes me want to cry after reading like 1/2 a page). All of Henry's stories pan out so nice and jolly for everyone.
Maybe that's why, in spite of my malevolent tumbly, I'm feeling thoroughly groovy.
I'll have to quote more O. Henry. And eat more Oh! Henry.