Deflation

The next bit Mike wants U all 2 know abt his recent book signing @ Lilliput's:

April,

Formerly little sis. One of the ways you can tell that Christmas is in the air (aside from the artificial pine smell), is the signing needs of the book buyer. When I did my signing at the Eastgate Mall, it was at the end of October, and most of the people there wanted me to sign it with things like, “If you keep reading, I’ll keep writing, you sexy thing.” Or “To the most wonderful, beautiful, talented, fantastic, intelligent person I have ever signed a book for”. But now the time has gotten closer to the holiday season, almost every signature I signed had something to do with the fact the book was going to be a gift.

As you may recollect, I had been signing books at a small table in front of a large counter with shelves behind it. I was signing away when a man with a suit and striped tie, wearing an odd propeller-less beanie sat at the table and started to read. I said, “Excuse me. This is my signing table.” He said, “Blow off, or I smack you around.” I looked around for my friends and relatives to defend me, but you were off doing other things. Naturally, I decided it would be better to stand by the large counter with shelves to continue my book-signing. It was then I noticed the shelves were filled with puzzle books like, “Crazy puzzles” or “Impossible Puzzles” or “Board game basketball” or “Print making” or things like that.

A lady approached me, handed me a book and said, “Could you say ‘Merry Christmas, Betty’—It’s for me!” So I said, “Merry Christmas, Betty---It’s for me!” I was about to add, “Thanks for the gift”, when Betty decided she wanted me to write in the book, “Merry Christmas, Betty” and she wanted her book back. So, picky, these holiday book-buyers are.

Then a man with glasses and a body which looked an awful lot like a French-Canadian woman had drawn him, had two of my books and decided he was going to tell me the names he had given them. He said, “The first book is ‘Merry Christmas, Glenda.’ The second will be ‘Happy Birthday, Stan.’” I said to him, “Those are indeed unique and interesting names to give to your books. Now, how do you want me to sign them?” After a long conversation where he kept repeating the books’ names to me over and over again, eventually he stomped out the door with no signatures at all. I think I would have minded it more, had there not been a girl on the other side of the counter who kept lifting up her skirt to flash her underwear at me. I remember thinking she could be a very attractive girl, if she only had eyes, nose and a mouth.

Then I could tell I was nearing the end of the book signing, because that’s when the hermaphrodites start lining up. A person with hair sticking up and wearing an earring, handed me a book and said, “Just sign it, man.” This was to indicate that he/she had correctly identified my gender. That can be a fairly intimidating move, especially considering I had no idea what he/she’s gender was. Then he / she said, “I want to read it first. Then I’ll decide if it’s good enough to give as a gift.” I replied, “It’s good enough to invite to meet the family” but after looking at he / she, I decided to discontinue that line of conversation. I signed her / his book, but I must admit I was distracted and stared at he / she a long time trying to make the same gender recognition which was done of me.

After he/she left, I puffed up my cheeks and blew out some air with a “Phwoooh!!” Mom immediately rushed over, grabbed my arm and said, “Are you tired, dear?” I wondered where she had been when the man with the beanie stole my table. I am sure I had a bleary look on my face as I said, “No…that was the sound of my ego deflating.” Mom said, “Good. It’s been so long since your ego was deflated, we were beginning to worry.” I don’t what it is about a book-signing that brings out the humour in my family.

As you can tell, formerly little sis, even when you have written the Great Canadian Novel, the overwhelming urge to buy my book as a Christmas present for other people can supplant even the most dedicated reader from recognizing literary greatness.

Love,
Michael Patterson

Oh, Mike, U numbskull! The guy who sat down @ yr table was wearing a hat that's called a keepah (as it's called in Hebrew) or a yarmulke (as it's called in Yiddish), and his wearing the hat shows he's Jewish, probably Orthodox. The guy w/the glasses wanted 2 U write "Merry Christmas, Glenda" and "Happy Birthday, Stan" in the books. He wasn't naming them.

And in case U were wondering abt the ppl who, like, fell on the floor, it was the force of wind resulting from yr ego deflating. I heard sum ppl saying it may have been the most inflated ego in Milborough history. MayB even Ontario or Canadian history.

Apes