Today was the book signing. What do you mean you don’t believe me?! Proof? Here’s the proof!

That’s me, in case you didn’t realize. The white shirt I’m wearing was freshly ironed twenty seconds before that photo was taken, but as soon as I hung it on myself it shriveled like a flower petal dropped into acid. Those are my books, my pens, my individually-wrapped prunes dried plums, and my oh-so-stylish sneakers.

If you’re wondering how it went, I sold eight books, four of book 1, four of book 2. That’s about five books more than expected. For those that care, here’s how it broke down:

Two books to a neighbor, the mother of Mango Eater’s best friend (she was the only buyer I already knew).
Two books to a woman buying gifts for her house-bound 94-year-old friend.
One book to a man buying a gift for his 20-year-old daughter.
One book to an aspiring writer.
One book to a bookstore employee for her son.
One book to an older woman who was scary skinny. She’s the one who provided the subject header above. (My response: “That’s the job!” She then asked rather stridently “Who’s this Ray Lilly? Is he good or evil?” What I wish I’d said was “I reject your dialectic!” What I actually said was “Uh….”)

I also mailed off all the giveaway books except the cookbooks that Carol Wong won. She hasn’t responded to two requests for a mailing address, and it would be a shame if her books went to the library or something because she used a spam trap address in the blog.

Now I’m back home and I’m not stress-eating or stress-drinking or stress-napping. I’m just hanging out with the family, and as soon as Mango Eater finishes building his Lego, he’s going to read us the next chapter of Harry Potter.