Book thirty-three: The Mouse and the Motorcycle by Beverly Cleary

I loved this book as a kid. Loved, loved, loved it. The kind of love that has you read it a gazillion times, so many times that the opening sentence is forever etched in your brain...

Keith, the boy in rumpled shorts and shirt, did not know he was being watched as he entered room 215 of the Mountain View Inn. Neither did his mother and father, who both looked hot and tired.

Totally from memory, people. Anyway, this was read out loud to Hen over a few weeks so I'm counting it. I'll also do the same with Charlotte's Web, which I read to Hen once already when he was a baby and am rereading to him now. Books, books, books. I love 'em. And so far, Hen seems to be loving them, too.

33 down plus 19 to go.