And now for a brief interlude...

Now just sit back, kiddies, and let me tell you a story about a wee little website with some very humble beginnings.

* * *

Upon first learning that she was to give birth, our mother was nervous indeed, and it's true that many women are less than thrilled to learn they are about to give birth to a website. This mother, however, was not worried about having a website; on the contrary, she had hoped for one and was overjoyed when the doctor confirmed her suspicions (although to be fair many had predicted it, since she was carrying so low).

Her worries, then, were not for herself as mother, but rather for her child. Would anyone visit it? she fretted. What if no one likes it? Quite simply, our young mother worried no one would love her child.

However, first on her list of worries, oddly enough, was the name of her impending website. With this task she had a very difficult time: a single mother, she had no one to help her in this most momentous of tasks. Name after name rattled through her head. She scoffed at them all. Nothing was good enough.

She searched high and low for a name that would best represent her child in the world. The chosen name must be regal, lofty -- and yet it must not be confusing, lest no one remember it. It must be serious, weighty -- and yet a bit of irony was also a must. With this dilemma she occupied a stretch of several minutes.

Finally, she alighted upon the name, and on this very day just two short years ago, Bibliolatry was born.

Since then, Bibliolatry has developed into a bumbling, cheeky toddler. Like any two-year-old, she is irrational and must be watched closely at all times. She can often be found about to stick a finger in a socket or flushing something inappropriate down the commode. She is given to tantrums and flights of fancy, and her likes and dislikes frequently cannot be foretold. Often her poor, harried mother must drown her senses in a bottle of wine after Bibliolatry has fallen asleep.

All the same, our young mother wouldn't change her daughter for the world. Bibliolatry has improved much in these two years; she has grown from a barely articulate newborn into a fairly witty toddler. Mom has changed as well; she is less worried, for one. Her fears that her daughter would not be loved have proven unfounded, for Bibliolatry is not without its admirers.

Our tale draws to a close; it would be wise now to leave our mother and daughter, who are enjoying a rare moment of peace. It's a quiet Sunday evening; having just enjoyed some birthday cake, mother reads aloud to her daughter. We cannot tell whether Bibliolatry will like what she hears; one can never tell until the last page has been read. But until that time, our young mother is guaranteed a moment of peace. Let's leave them there, reading tranquilly by the fire. Such peace, we know, cannot last.