Sixty years ago, a sullen fourteen-year old, I curled up in a big armchair and read THE PLAGUE AND I. My laughter got louder and louder, closer to shrieks, and finally my father stormed into the room and yelled, "Quit that! No book is that funny!" He grabbed the book from me and said, "Go do your homework!" I stormed outside and flopped huffily into the hammock.
When, huffed out, I finally came back in, my mother said, "Well, I hope you're satisfied! Your father's teeth are broken!" I was used to getting blamed for small crises in the household, but was really mystified by this accusation. Mom turned her back to me, but I could hear an amused snort escape.
"He was reading that book of yours in the bathroom. Laughed so hard his teeth fell out and broke on the floor tiles."
I have just now finished another reading of THE PLAGUE AND I. It's even more fun than it was all those years ago. Just keep your teeth in.