“It’s so nice to see someone reading,” a waitress said to my husband. He was waiting for me alone at a café while I was having my nails manicured.
He found her enthusiasm peculiar yet complimentary, and he chuckled when he told me what she had said to him. Perhaps it was the shock of witnessing a book instead of an iPhone between the fingers of a millennial.
My husband could have narrowly been among the 6% of Americans who read digital books only, but he’s not, and neither am I.