The other day my husband caught me digging through my basket of bookmarks.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Trying to find a bookmark.”
He looked at the basket, in which there are roughly a hundred bookmarks, and grabbed the one on top. “Here.”
It was a nice bookmark. I’d picked it up at my local library and it commemorated the opening of their new building. It was just the right size for hardcovers, however…
“Nope,” I said. “It doesn’t match.”
My husband looked at me. “Doesn’t … match?”
“Well, yeah,” I said. “You have to make sure the bookmark goes with the book.”
“You do?” He looked at the box that was overflowing with bookmarks.
“Of course you do. They have to match.”
“Match how?” He quirked up his eyebrows.
“Lots of ways,” I said, warming to the subject. “One really good one is to get the author’s bookmark for that particular book. Even better is to get a signed bookmark. Once I got a signed one from Tess Gerritsen, if you can believe that. It’s awesome. I use that every time I read one of her books.”
“That’s nice.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “You said there are lots of ways to match?”
“Well, sure. You can match topics. Like the other day when you came home with that financial book about the global economy? I gave you a bookmark that was made from foreign currency. Pretty good match, right?”
“And that book I read by my Canadian writer friend, the book with the cats in it? I used a bookmark I bought last time we were in Canada. Remember? It had a picture of a Canada Lynx. One of my best matches ever,” I said proudly.
“What’s going to be the bookmark for that?” He pointed to the book in my hand: The Bone House, by Brian Freeman.
“I’m not sure.” I frowned. “This is the first book I’ve ever read by him, so it’s hard to know. But he’s a thriller writer, so I can’t use the Mary Engelbreit bookmark, that’s for sure. None of the flower ones will work, either. My fallback is the ‘101 Reasons to Read,’ but I might be able to find something better.”
“Well, good luck with that,” my husband said. “I’ll be watching hockey if you need my help.”
He left, and I happily returned to rooting around in my bookmarks. I’d find the perfect match. Eventually.