“Oh, you should read this, I think you’ll like it,” my mother tells me. She and I exchange books a lot, despite the fact that one should always take her recommendations with a grain of salt.
How was the movie, Mom? “It was EXCELLENT. The best I’ve ever seen. That Cate Blanchett should win an Oscar.”
I heard you tried that new Italian place. “The chicken piccata was OUTSTANDING. I really can’t remember having such a good meal.”
Hey, welcome back from vacation! “Oh my gosh, Provence was AMAZING. I felt like I died and went to heaven. I’m so lucky to be alive.”
And finally, “My grandchildren are all so BRILLIANT . They are just such a pleasure to be with.”
My mother is a glass half-full kinda gal.
The book she passed on to me was Eat, Pray, Love.
It is a treatise for bourgeois women everywhere:
My husband is boring! I think I will collapse on my bathroom floor and bang my head against the cold ceramic tile.
I found a hot lover! Why is my husband so mad at me? I think I will divorce him.
My lover is emotionally unavailable. I think I need Zoloft.
If I am not going to be a suburban soccer mom, then I don’t know who I am. I think I will travel to an ashram to find myself.
I read 25 pages. I scoffed. Is this woman SERIOUS?!!
But, she uses the word smug several times. I read the whole thing. I have two concluding thoughts:
1. Hmmm, maybe I should get myself a guru.
2. Wait, I’ve heard this message before. Ah, yes.
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