There are blue cookies served at the book release party.
I clutch my copy of the book in nervous hands and consider bolting. Despite the bohemian lace on my sleeves and the defiant sequins on my sneakers, my confidence is wavering. But the atmosphere at the adult education centre enthralls me - the curiosity and inspiration of people who are there to learn something for the fun of it. The old ladies from my book club are there. And there are blue cookies ...
Before my social awkwardness gets the better of me, an elderly writer whose books I read as a child pulls me into a deep discussion on fiction versus biography. Then I discover that the young woman munching on cookies next to me has a degree in English, like me, and an affinity for genuine Dublin pubs, like me.
Nothing is better than book lovers and blue cookies on a chilly spring night. I hear myself enthusiastically saying things like "When my life is in chaos, I need the feeling of purpose in a fictional story" and "My nail polish was supposed to be golden but as you see it turned out green!" to complete strangers.
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