How shameful

I’ve been reading nothing but Chick-lit lately. I know, ew.

But the thing is, it helps me fall asleep at night, because no matter how crazy delusional the characters are, everything always turns out happy in the end. Which is why it helps me sleep soundly.

(I recently read Himalayan Dhaba (not chick-lit), which, while exquisitely beautiful and well-written, managed to cover a bicycle accident, death, grief, rape, arson, murder, a car accident, kidnapping, illness and more grief in 400 or so pages. Even though I loved the book, I had nightmares for weeks.)

I just finished Room for Improvement by Stacey Ballis (definite chick-lit, and because the author is a poet, I am not ashamed). I laughed and laughed, mostly one of the characters said only, “Really? With the screaming? Really?" And, “Really? With the pillow-fighting? Really?” And, “Really? With the not being ready? Really?”

He reminded me of Len, an old client, who said things like that to me all the time. “Really? High heels? You think that’s a good idea?” and “Really? That press release? You think that’s appropriate?”