The librarian, as we knew her, exists only in the silent, musty institutions of reading buried deep in our childhood memories. Her sensible-yet-sensual horned-rim cat glasses, framing every disapproving glare at even the slightest audible disturbance. Partially obscured under a seductive black hair net, a tightly wound mouse-colored bun, wound so tightly in fact, it draws the skin up on her temples, giving her a slightly psychotic, if not alluring expression. Alas, Dewey Decimal has now gone digital, the once hallowed halls of books now resemble a Blockbuster franchise and worst of all...the bookish object of my desires...the librarian, is no more.
All these years I have been hiding behind the facade of a librarian fetishist, refusing to accept the influence of technology in every single aspect of our lives, right down to our most depraved fantasies, but thanks to AZGman's intervention, I have finally come to grips with the fact that I have a Media Center Specialist fetish.
Finally, I can fully embrace technology.