I completed Nicholas Sparks' "The Rescue." It wasn't the best novel I've ever read. It wasn't the worst. Maybe some people enjoy reading novels that involve obstacles being overcome and the power of true love. I'm getting out of that phase; I need to clean the warm fuzzies out of my brain. I'm starting on Dalton Trumbo's "Johnny Got His Gun" this afternoon. I've had it for years but for some reason, last night, I finally decided to read it.
Everyone either wants me to dress sexy or sporty for this evening's sporting event/meet the friends escapade. I don't have the wardrobe for either of those options. Now I'm getting nervous.