Recently, my parents hosted a South American exchange student. At the time he arrived, Bard and I were (for a variety of reasons) living with my parents, but we had just signed a lease on an apartment and were getting ready to move. The exchange student happened to come across me kneeling in my old bedroom, packing up the mountains upon mountains upon freakin' Mt. Everests of books that lined the walls. "Wow," he said, "have you read all
I paused for a minute, looked around the room, and said "Yeah, I've probably read all or part of most pretty much all these books."
Cue wide-eyed look on exchange student's face. "Wow. I've only read, like, three books in my whole life."
Cue us exchanging looks of mutual "Holy...! Are you serious?
I spent the rest of the day feeling very sad that there was someone in my house who had only ever read three books (I come from a very, very
literary family. There are quite literally books in every single room of my parents' house, and we're all always reading two or three different books at once).