Down by the laundry room are various bookcases (mostly discards from when people moved or replaced furniture; one of them was mine, actually, but didn't fit into the apartment when we settled in), & there the building has an informal book exchange. Friday morning the engineer brought up a paperback that he thought I'd like -- it was a mystery, which I sometimes do read, featuring dogs, always a plus, & when trying to fall asleep, I will read almost anything.
I should have stopped after the author credited a romance writers' group for their support. But then I would not have read about someone who kissed the main character & then continued to "plunder her mouth." What the hell was he doing, stealing her fillings?
After three legal marriages & a good many informal liaisons, I am baffled. What am I doing wrong that no one has plundered my mouth? And how would anyone accomplish that? Would I be as pleased about it as this heroine? Had she hidden her jewelry in there, or her wallet?
From a quick skim of the rest, I gathered that the prose style & plot throughout ranged from breathless to downright bizarre (dogs also spoke to the heroine telepathically, & something about her own dog's lines made me picture Karl Malden), but I think -- I hope -- that no one actually made it into bed. Because I really don't want to know what a man who plunders your mouth does to the rest of you.
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