blame it on me


Someone took The Baby-sitters Club books and turned them into graphic novels. I would give anything to read that whole series again (I read every book a dozen times when I was younger), but not in this form. It’s really weirding me out. I think part of my social issues stem from the fact that my mom let me read at the dinner table. And in the car. And at the grocery store. If she had made me put down the book and interact, I wouldn’t be so shy now. Oh, well.


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