When I was visiting my mom she gave me The Other Boleyn Girl, by Phillipa Gregory to read. Since I am wildly and unhealthily addicted to The Tudors on Showtime I snatched it up in 2 seconds flat.
The book is smut...and I am greedily sucking up every word while the girls sleep. Over 600 pages...good grief, overkill. I'm on page 400 something and seriously rooting for Anne to get her pretty little head lopped off. Since I'm not above a little good smut now and again, it does a soul good, I should be done by weekend.
However, reading the book while watching the series at the same time? It is messing with my mind. As I aimlessly walked Olivia in the stroller a few miles this morning at one point I could have sworn I heard the swishing of green velvet in 6 yards of skirts. But then I looked down and realized it was only the muffin man's sport socks I was accidentally wearing. How does one accidentally wear black ankle sport socks even while working out with only a two year old? I casually pulled out a bowl of grapes this morning from the fridge and could have sworn I saw an amazing fruit bowl before me...fit for a king...complete with mangoes and exotic fruits from the far reaches of Europe.
Then I had a little fantasy of purchasing a small Tudor house with a little farm and only taking a few ladies in waiting and man servants as the muffin man and I gave up our time at court to become country farmers. Then of course I bore him a son to carry on the name. Strangely enough there was no Chinese adoption in the day dream.
Is this a sign that I need to talk to someone over the age of 2 1/2 during the daytime hours? I've gotta get a John Irving book off the shelf or something, and maybe a little reality tv.