You know how the hipsters these days have read-ins? Where they imitate their childhood and cuddle up in blankets and read Ramona Quimby, Age 8 and The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler and Anne of Windy Poplars? Oh man. I was just going to make fun of the hipsters but then I listed those amazing books, and that combined with the fact that I'm getting sick makes me want to curl up under a table with Katie Fantastic and pretend we don't have cell phones and boys and lipgloss and that the utopian dream of the childhood really did exist for us, at one point, maybe.
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