Except I actually do. This is a sentence I have heard twice in as many years. Two men who have said to me that they do not read. 
Not can not. Do not. 
Mark Twain, be still! 

Then I begin to think in my head about all of the love I have for books and all of the memories surrounding reading that exist in my life.  When I was five, I was on the front page of our town newspaper because I was there so much. I was already a reader and I was also going to graduate high school in the year 2000. In 1987, this was a big deal...for town newspapers. 

I seriously went to the library constantly. Bless my mother and father for buying a home around the corner from the town library. My parents also read to me every night. I was a repeat reader, always wanting the same stories, and I still like to re-read books. I love to see how the meaning changes as my life changes. Perhaps it is an exercise in vanity, but I really don't care. I love the story of Seal Child and who gives a shit if it was written for fourth graders and I am now thirty one? I also love Oranges are not the Only Fruit and can pretty much read that book once a month until who knows when. 
The point is, I love books. I have many books. When John Waters spoke about how you shouldn't have sex with people if they don't own books, my agreement soared like the Reading Rainbow logo. But what do you do when you meet someone who seems interesting, only to discover they do not read?