Love in the Neverending Time of Cholera

I began reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Love In the Time of Cholera in mid-December. I usually get through a novel of 300 pages or so in a couple of days. It's now almost February, and I haven't finished this book. Ok, quite a bit has happened between when I started and now, but still, this is getting ridiculous.

I had to go to the library on Monday to re-check it out, because I'd run out of renewals. That morning, it had snowed badly, M-N got in a car accident, I spent the day shovelling, taking care of the baby, and trying to make sure M-N was ok. I finally got to the library, and it's lightly raining. I got the baby and book into the library, and the woman behind the desk was incredibly snotty.

Me: "Can I please check this book out again?"
Woman: "Oh, it's a bit wet, isn't it?"
(The book is a hardcover, wrapped-in-plastic, 15-year-old library copy. The plastic got misted on)
Me: "Mmm."
Woman: "I'll only give it back to you if you promise to keep it drier."
Me: "Mmm."

She doesn't offer me a bag or anything, just sent me back into the rain with the book. So I spit on it.

Ok, no, not really. But I hope to finish it today sometime.

This posting is a bit like a Calvin & Hobbes book report.