The prose wasn’t very eloquent. See Jane. And the action sequences were rather weak. See Dick run. Run, Dick, run! Not exactly Harry Potter, in complexity, let me tell you. Not surprisingly, these not-so-riveting storybooks soon went the way of the dinosaur, with only people like Grandma bringing them up from time to time while reminiscing about “the good old days” (which, if you take into account the two-mile walk to school barefoot in three feet of snow she claims to have endured daily, don’t actually seem so good after all). In fact, truth be told, I’d pretty much forgotten about those prehistoric primers all together. That is, until a real-life Jane came into our lives and my boyfriend suddenly turned into a real dick. Seriously, the last week or so I’ve wanted to strangle the old guy. Oh, and by the way, when I say “old,” I mean it. My boyfriend, Magnus, is literally coming up on his one thousandth and first birthday. Even though he doesn’t look a day over eighteen.
