Years ago, I was living unemployed in my ex-wife's guest room, sleeping on a futon, keeping stuff in a cardboard dresser while most of my wordly goods were in storage. When I would chat with my Compuserve friends [it was 1990/1991 — shush!] we would compare notes about what our "happy place" would be; I described a room, somewhere, lined with bookshelves, and all my books out of boxes and on shelves again.

When I got my own place (and a job!) my first big purchase was a set of real wood bookshelves. (Second was a big "L" desk for my computer stuff. I still have both.) The only place big enough for all of them (plus more I bought later) was my livingroom, so walking into my home was like walking into a library. At least I liked to think so, and two women I dated made that comment.

The first made it in a disparaging tone; we parted ways for other reasons, but in retrospect, it was a big red flag.

The second said it after an intake of breath, and a smile of delight. "Have you ever seen Beauty and the Beast?" she asked; "There's a scene where the Beast shows Belle a huge library. My niece loves that movie, and I told her, 'Never settle for a man who can't give you a library!'"

So when we were scouting houses together, Deb could always tell me if there was enough space and the proper rooms to put all our bookshelves.

She's been correct for 21 years now, even as we keep adding bookshelves.