I am sorry to inform you I will not be joining your book club. Although I fully support reading more, drinking wine, and venting about our husbands, I must decline for the following reasons:
1.) I always pick snacks no one can eat because they’re pregnant and I forgot. Or because when you said “snack,” I heard “pulled-pork slider.” Or because when I bring my famous cherry scones, you’ll go on and on about your diet as if nibbling on one will end the world. I don’t know why the snack process in all girl groups confuses me, but it does.
It is not my job to coach you through chocolate cheesecake. Just indulge and diet later, like the commercials say. Or tell your bookclub attendees that by snack, you mean fruit.
2.) I already read Eat, Pray, Love.
3.) I refuse to read any of the books below. I know you’re going to be hurt when I tell you I don’t want to read books about shopaholics, bored housewives, abused kids, or seductive vampires. I know it wipes out half the books and I am screwing everything up.
So let me be more specific:
Book Club Books I’ll Never Read
1. Fifty Shades of Grey
I won’t read it because this blog about why we shouldn’t read it is probably better than the actual book. I won’t read it because if I wanted to read about heaving bosoms and ripped pantaloons I can get a pile of Harlaquin Romance Novels for $1 each at our Goodwill. I won’t read it because I am amazed that a writer who has their character look in the mirror and describe her “disrespectful hair” got published. If you google “Top mistakes new writers make,” that’s one of them. Also, controversial sex scenes don’t do much for me. They pave a cheap road to success for the self-published.
2. Water for Elephants
I did read the first chapter. But I didn’t believe the protagonist would hop a train to the circus the day after his parents died. No way. Not even during the Great Depression. He doesn’t have an uncle? A cousin? Why not write a story about an old carny-hobo shit shoveler with a bindle and a scruffy mutt? You know – the kind of person who would really join the circus. Oh that’s right – he needed to be a Veterinarian, world’s sexiest job so that he could impress and subsequently get the girl. What a surprising plot twist when the elephant only he can tame dies tragically, or so I’ve been told.
I am just never going to read it. And you should be ok with me not reading it. Why do you want me to read this?
I know the premise: virgin chooses between vampire and werewolf. Written by repressed Mormon.
I never got the whole vampire thing. Dark, pale and brooding isn’t that sexy.
“Hey, we should, go try that new ice cream place”
“I can’t go out in daylight, remember? God, you’re so forgetful”
“Ok, we can go after sunset.”
“I’m a fucking vampire remember? I only eat blood.”
4. Game of Thrones
I MIGHT read this. Everyone I know says it’s fantastic. But as an English major, I suffered through enough Beowulf and Gawain, the Green Knight and roundtable stuff to know I don’t like medievil literature. And I heard it’s a tangle of characters, plots, sub plots, mixed in with spectacular feasts and the occasional torture or rape. No thanks.
5. The Da Vinci Code
For months in 2003, everyone I knew asked, “did you read the Da Vinci Code yet?” And I kept having to say no. And no. And no. I don’t know WHY I never read it, just didn’t get around to it and kept buying other books.
The trend finally petered out and I would look so behind, so provincial reading it now. Sometimes I pretend I read it to avoid this:
You didn’t read that yet? You must not read a lot.
Actually, I read quite a bit. But thanks for your concern.
I’ve been avoiding mysteries since I read those Encyclopedia Brown books and they made me feel like a nimrod for not solving the case of Sally’s Stolen Pencil or whatever. I always assumed it was the bully and skipped to the end. EB taught me two things: I am impatient and I harbor a slight prejudice against jocks.
I assure you, my refusal to join yet another book club does not mean I hate you bitches.