Of all the books sitting on my shelf, the one I'm probably most embarassed to own (in hardcover, no less) is Scarlett. Yes, the "sequel" to Gone With The Wind, written almost sixty years later by a different author. I'm embarassed that I own it because it is such a guilty pleasure: trashy pseudo-historical romance, giving Scarlett a Personal Growth Experience and a happy ending. The book is not nearly as bad as it could be, considering, but it does tend to sink into some awfully indulgent moments. The writing is nowhere near the calibre of Margaret Mitchell's, and the ambiguous complexity that made her story interesting is turned, in the sequel, to heavy-handed moralizing: people are Good or Bad, and our heroine is Good. Pretty much what you'd expect. But I have to admit it's a satisfying read. So when my local library was selling off the hardcover for a dollar, I bought it.

Pär has never read either GWTW or Scarlett, but he knows my opinions of each. Once or twice he's walked into a room to catch me reading Scarlett, and he never misses the chance to mock me for it.

I like to give gifts that are surprises, but there's one that Pär knows he's getting this year because the bookstore where I bought it has only a ten-day return policy, and I wanted to make sure he wasn't going to buy the same book for me.

"There's no way to say this delicately," I told him. "Don't buy me the new George R. R. Martin book for Christmas."

"Why?" he asked.

"Don't ask."

"Oh!" he said, and got a shifty gleam in his eyes. There was really no reason for him to look so clever and shifty over having "figured out" the answer I'd all but handed him, but maybe he was generously trying to maintain an air of secrecy to compensate for me blowing the surprise.

And even though he knows he's going to get that book now, I still try to maintain some secrecy about it too. I've got it tucked away; I don't leave it out in the open for Pär to see. But Martin's 'Song of Ice and Fire' series is truly excellent high fantasy, and that's a rare thing to come across. I've been waiting a year to read the third book, and I couldn't wait a few more weeks, so I've been reading it on the sly whenever Pär's not around.

I was so engrossed in the story that I didn't hear him come in. He walked into the room and I tried, too late, to hide the book by shoving it under a pillow.

"Hi!" I chirped brightly.

He gave me another shifty smirk. "Whatcha got there?"

"Oh, nothing."

"It looked like you were reading something," he suggested.

"Nothing good. Never you mind about it."

He smiled knowingly at me. "Is it porn?"

I gazed back at him, deadpan. "Yes. It is porn." I rolled my eyes only slightly.

"Cool, you're reading porn! Let me see!" He dove for the pillow.

"No! You can't see it!" I threw my body across the pillow, but he wrestled me off it. "It's not porn! It's not porn!" I shouted.

Too late; he'd seen the book. "Whoops," he said. "Pretend I didn't see it."

I glared at him and covered the book with the pillow again.

"Well, you shouldn't have told me it was porn!" he exclaimed.

"I don't know what I was thinking."

"You should have told me it was Scarlett," he said. "I wouldn't have had the slightest interest in looking at it."

I'll keep that in mind for next time. And maybe, since he's been so very good all year, Santa will even bring him a smutty comic book for Christmas. But I'll think about that tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day.