M

My name is M and I’m addicted to trashy chick lit (oh and coffee, obv).

I’m one of those people who, once I’ve started reading a book, feels duty bound to finish it, no matter how dreadful or dull it is.

I’m currently reading the book equivalent of bubble gum - no substance, full of air, absolutely no nutritional value at all, will do me no good at all, but the sugary sweet content is so addictive that I keep coming back for more.

It’s badly written, the dialogue is clunky, the plot is predictable and not very interesting (girl leaves old life to experience life on the other side of the fence, will she discover that other side of the fence is shallow and does her no good - much like this book - see the error of her ways and return to her old life? Of course she will, and I’m only a quarter of the way through!) the characters aren’t characters as such more like stereotypes.

Yet I can’t stop reading it, on the tube on the way to and from work, before I go to sleep. I feel ashamed to be seen reading it in public, it’s pink cover making it obvious to all that this is definietly *not* a book that any one with a smidgen of respect for literature should be reading but that doesn’t stop me. I’ve so far hidden it from boy for fear of life long derision (honey, I’m reading a terrible chick lit novel, please don’t think less of me!) and yet, yet I can’t stop reading it!

Soon I’ll be obsessing over shoes & handbags, calling everyone sweetie and painting my nails bright red…oh, wait.

It’s trash and I’m addicted.

Planning to read: Mansfield Park, by Jane Austin next (chick lit you’re allowed to like)
Off to: Buttoned Down Disco tonight” (do come along)
Listening to: Xfm

This entry was posted on Saturday, March 11th, 2006 at 6:37 pm and is filed under Coffee. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.