What I Imagine Strangers Think About Me When They See Me Reading a Book in Public


That girl is so charming and uncomplicated, sitting there quietly reading her book.

That girl could be on her phone but she chose to read a book instead. I bet she has never watched a full season of “House Hunters International” in a single day.

I’m overwhelmed by the simple elegance of that girl with her book. I have the urge to tell her a secret or buy her a lavender-scented candle.

That girl strikes me as someone who has moderate to advanced knitting skills, but isn’t weird about it.

I’m very attracted to that girl. Not in a creepy way. But she is objectively hot.

That girl, over there—the one with the book. I’m positive that all of the art in her home is framed.

That girl must look very beautiful when she cries.

That girl surely woke up at 7 A.M. and baked a strawberry tart “just because.”

Look at how gingerly that girl grasps her book. Her hands seem soft but not sweaty. I would like to hold one.

That girl could plan an outdoor barn wedding that is unique but tasteful.

That girl definitely has an artisanal marmalade that she swears by in her fridge.

That girl has never betrayed someone. She has never lied. I would trust her to hold my diary and never open it.

That girl could explain the Electoral College to me in a way that isn’t patronizing at all.

I don’t know why, but seeing that girl serenely reading her book just inspired me to finally call my sister.

That girl has the kind of calming presence that you would want around when taking the LSAT or birthing a child.

Seeing that tranquil girl reading her book just reminded me that everything is going to be O.K.

That girl is definitely reading that book. This is not a performance. Although, it is strange that after fifteen minutes she’s still on the same page.

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