Pants on fire Book

One day, after almost 3 years of engineering studies, I suddenly realized that a dear friend of mine, who I call My Brain, needed some more entertainment than integrating and drawing trusses. Going to a book store sounded like a perfect solution. Being me is not an easy task though. Quite simply indecisiveness is my middle name. Finding a perfect book, that would have hit my finny bone honestly required a great deal of patience.

After hours, literally spent on thumbing, I finally found a masterpiece!
'Fabulously glamorous… highly entertaining'
'Wickedly funny and realistic (…)'
That's what I found on its cover and what only reinforced my conviction.
I was happily strutting around - proud of my choice and above all proud of MYSELF! Well… by the time I started reading my purchase for good…
Now I'm 76 and my toxic relationship with that (wait a second.. how did I call it? a masterpiece?) unbelievably raving MASTERPIECE has been lasting for, let me count, 55 years?

I graduated from university, retired from work, even my existence is slowly winding down, but there's still one constantly and invariably unfinished thing in my life- that damn book. Basically I can't die in peace because of it.
The only thing that actually makes me happy is the thought of my dear enemy to whom I will bequeath the most precious possession of mine if I finally complete my biggest challenge and depart from this life after reading the closing line.
Read books, they said, it would be fun, they said…