"The Journal of Mortifying Moments" by Robin Harding

Oh gosh, I know, I read another book with a pink cover. Tsk tsk.

Well it was good enough. These books with pink covers weren't around before Sex and the City, I swear. And now they are everywhere. The whole genre of writing about someone who is relatively successful in Manhattan and has man troubles seems to take precedence in our society these days. I suppose I can only read so many murder mysteries before I get sick.

Anywho, this one is about a girl who isn't, surprisingly, perfect. She's a little larger than most, although she is still pretty and has a perfect life despite hating it. She's successful and has a super hot boyfriend, described as better looking than Patrick Dempsey.

I never quite know what to make of any of these books. I think they are all Sex and the City knock-offs - they all have the same basic story, same basic characters, a lot of the same problems. But they aren't Sex and the City! We only have room for one of those and we adore it, and we don't really need more.

I guess I get annoyed at how cutesy and how fairytale all of these turn out to be. In the real world things don't always go bad and then get better - it's often enough the reverse. I don't know, I just feel like all of these chick flick books (what on earth should we call them?) try soooo hard to relate to every last woman on this planet. I don't know.

I will say that I don't mind reading these books, but I guess it's just something that makes me a little sick inside.