Fiorella has been reading again, reading and writing rather than keeping up the house. Her mother would have been strongly disapproving.
Fio's mother would have preferred her to be more like Dexter Morgan, who is very neat and tidy. Of course, Dexter also happens to be a serial killer, but we'll let that little personality glitch pass us by because his victims, as our Arnold claimed for his character in True Lies, are "all bad." Besides, Dexter's creator, Jeff Lindsay, is a marvelous writer. Not only is the main character skillfully drawn and the plot tight, but the words just seem to trip off Lindsay's tongue. The prose is beautiful, poetic even.
Younger Son alerted me to Dexter on television last year and I peek-a-booed a couple of episodes--which means I flipped channels whenever stuff got too gory, then came back a few minutes later to find out what had happened. Now that I've read one of the books, I am amazed at how well the whole idea transferred to the tube.
Anyway, I highly recommend Darkly Dreaming Dexter, and Husband and I plan to further enrich the overflowing coffers of Barnes and Noble by purchasing the rest of the series.
The housekeeping will just have to wait. Sorry, Mom. At least I don't litter the place with severed limbs and headless torsos.
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