So, I've been checking the front porch for the past week, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the book. After a splendid evening with the wife watching the DCI Quarterfinals, we come home to, alas, no book on the porch. My wife rolls her eyes, and I take the babysitter home. After dropping her off, I park the van in the garage, and, Lo! and Behold! a cardboard box, beat to Hell and back, is leaning up against the back garage door. The back door. Behind the freakin' house! How long has it been there?
Opening the box gingerly, I know that all that will be inside is a vaugely Ptolus-like mass of mangled paper and ink. The book is unharmed. Only one corner is a bit smushed, another is creased but it is only visible to close inspection.
#651/1000, May 5, 2006.