Well, I'll tell you. There's a big old ugly stack of unshelved, unsorted books slap in the middle of my office. That's as far as the strays have gone; not on the shelves, not boxed, not even kicked under the daybed. It's after eleven at night, I have to work tomorrow, and I can't face sorting books at this hour.
Now my dear friend Judith is coming home with me from the store at five, and the party's not scheduled to kick off until eight. I could ask her to help. She'd be only too willing to do whatever is asked of her. She's the dearest creature on Earth. But can I really ask her to box books after spending the day in a bookstore? At the Holidays?
And I know what would happen if I did. We'd end up sitting on the floor, books scattered about the room, chatting our way through the lot, and accomplishing not a damned thing. There might be a glass or two of wine involved, I dare say.
I think the only solution is a tarp. I can say that we're renovating. Or use a tablecloth and make it a serving area.
These are the hosting issues when one owns too many books and too few shelves. Luckily, I think my guests, being bookish themselves, will understand and forgive.
And we do need flat surfaces for folks to set their drinks down.
Maybe I'll just shelve the Walter Savage Landor before I go to bed. Hate to see anything spill on Walter Savage Landor.