Um. Sorry 'bout that, honey?
Aug. 21st, 2016 06:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jennariaSo my wife and I play puzzle computer games together (the kind you find on Big Fish Games with titles like MYTHS OF THE WORLD: ISLAND OF FORGOTTEN EVIL). I enjoy the puzzle bits, she enjoys the hidden object bits, and we both enjoy snarking the often rather silly plots. Since it's my account, I frequently download trial samples (~1 hour of playtime) and play through them without her. But we have an agreement: in the event that the Player Character acquires a Cute Animal Sidekick, I am to hold off on even the sample, and play it with her to see if she's interested.
I hadn't particularly thought about this in other contexts, until recently. In a last hurrah before the semester starts, we'd hit up our Local Used Book Store, and I'd picked up a Jayne Castle book. For those who don't recognize that name, Jayne Castle is also known as Jayne Ann Krentz: Castle is her preferred nom de plume for a particular series set on the world of Harmony. All the inhabitants have psychic powers of various description, and there's been at least a little effort put into world-building so it's not just your standard paranormal romance. Some in the series are better than others, but they're fun in a potato-chip addictive sort of way. The wife was looking for something that wouldn't make her think, so she picked up my new book.
I'd forgotten one particular bit of world-building. You see, in Harmony, they don't have cats or dogs - they have the thing which the locals call 'dust-bunnies,' on account of their resemblance to enormous (adorable) balls of floof. All of Jayne Castle's heroines somehow or other wind up adopting a dust-bunny, whether they start the novel with one or not.
The result: only a few chapters in, the wife comes and finds me and grabs me by the shoulders. "YOU DIDN'T TELL ME ABOUT THE DUST-BUNNIES," she says.
"Uh. I...didn't think about it."
"You know our agreement about cute animals in the games," she says, more calmly. "How would that principle not extend?"
"Silly of me," I agree.
Sadly, the semester starts in two days for her, so she is restricting herself from going on a hunt for All The Jayne Castle Books. I, on the other hand, am plotting to abuse my ILL privileges with our local library consortium. Woman cannot live by textbooks alone, after all.
I hadn't particularly thought about this in other contexts, until recently. In a last hurrah before the semester starts, we'd hit up our Local Used Book Store, and I'd picked up a Jayne Castle book. For those who don't recognize that name, Jayne Castle is also known as Jayne Ann Krentz: Castle is her preferred nom de plume for a particular series set on the world of Harmony. All the inhabitants have psychic powers of various description, and there's been at least a little effort put into world-building so it's not just your standard paranormal romance. Some in the series are better than others, but they're fun in a potato-chip addictive sort of way. The wife was looking for something that wouldn't make her think, so she picked up my new book.
I'd forgotten one particular bit of world-building. You see, in Harmony, they don't have cats or dogs - they have the thing which the locals call 'dust-bunnies,' on account of their resemblance to enormous (adorable) balls of floof. All of Jayne Castle's heroines somehow or other wind up adopting a dust-bunny, whether they start the novel with one or not.
The result: only a few chapters in, the wife comes and finds me and grabs me by the shoulders. "YOU DIDN'T TELL ME ABOUT THE DUST-BUNNIES," she says.
"Uh. I...didn't think about it."
"You know our agreement about cute animals in the games," she says, more calmly. "How would that principle not extend?"
"Silly of me," I agree.
Sadly, the semester starts in two days for her, so she is restricting herself from going on a hunt for All The Jayne Castle Books. I, on the other hand, am plotting to abuse my ILL privileges with our local library consortium. Woman cannot live by textbooks alone, after all.