I tend to judge. Shoot me.
I swear we all do it, but I guess I’m a little more open with my thoughts.
I know you can’t judge a book by it’s cover. I look farther than the cover, but once I’m a few chapters in, I really feel like I have a good sense. I know there’s always that cliffhanger at the end that could surprise me. I love nothing more than when a person surprises me.
Really, it’s fantastic when someone turns out to be so much more than I ever garnered from his or her first few chapters.
I can be harsh. I have told my son, upon first glance, that the girl he’s dating has crazy eyes. He told me to stop, but a few weeks later she turned out to me a bit of a bunny boiler. I’m not always right, but I have a sense. My children call it judgmental, critical, but it’s just a sense. People put things out there for a reason and I pay attention.
Maya Angelou said, “When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.”
See, Maya is giving me permission to view a person’s show. I’m sure she means that I should watch the whole production. Read all the chapters, before I decide, but I have a pretty busy life, so I use my filter. It may not be charitable or kind, but it’s authenticly mine.
The filter is stronger than it used to be, fortified over many years of buying up all kinds of bad book covers and telling myself that there would be a surprise inside. I’m not closed off, I’m careful. I still pick up the tattered books or the books that are missing pages, in fact I usually prefer those people. I try to avoid overly peppy books because I feel like there’s a scary clown in there somewhere. I know…generalizations and it’s not good. Sorry, I’m not changing.
I may miss out on some great books, I may miss a spectacular ending or two. I’ve accepted that, because odds are I will avoid a whole bunch of bunny boiling along the way.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Snugglies Scare Me.