books for the bathtub: My Boyfriend Wrote a Book About Me

My Boyfriend Wrote a Book About Me by Hilary Winston is a book I read about someplace and decided I absolutely had to read, so I put it on hold at my local library (a great secret if you happen to like books, which I do). I think hilarious women writers may be my most favorite genre of all (Sloane Crosley, Elizabeth Crane, Julie Klausner) and Ms. Winston doesn’t disappoint. Firstly, I can relate. She’s the proud mama of two cats, chronically single, and happens to take a lot of baths. The title is indeed telling of the story within, Winston’s ex evidently did write a tell-all book thinly veiled as a fictitious novel, dubbing her his “fat-assed girlfriend.” (Thanks to sleuth Googling skills I found out that “Kyle” is Chad Kultgen, and the book is called The Average American Male. Vicious and must-read.) Through the ashes of her grief and humiliation, Winston spins heartbreaking and hilarious dating/sex/relationship tales. Her candor is disarming, refreshing, and will make you cringe – she’s bold enough to write about herself completely unselfconsciously and as a result, you get a fantastic package of real and relatable stories.

With chapters like “I Know You’re in There, Whore,” “A Questionable Poo: The End of Romance,” and “The Coital Laugh,” My Boyfriend Wrote a Book About Me promises some raunchy laughs that don’t disappoint. The book has a decidedly melancholy undertone, but Winston sews threads of hope throughout her tales like Lurex through fabric. I can honestly say I laughed and cried, and that’s a true gem of a book in my eyes. One that can span emotional gaps and be affecting in more ways than one. There’s hope for us single cat ladies, after all. Once we learn about loosening our grip in more ways than one (read the book to understand the joke), we can let go and really enjoy. So go ahead – crack it open, and take a bath or two with Ms. Winston. You’ll be glad you did.

borrowed love

A quick little poem I wrote last night about library books. Or men. Or both? You decide.

Men are like library books.
I’ll find one that glows from beyond a pretty cover,
full of promises on the inside flap.
Hold it in my hands to feel its weight,
then put it in my sack.
I take my time
Breathe in that old book smell
that makes you wonder where it’s been before.
I’ll marvel at its contents
as gorgeous words unfurl –
vivid prose upon my tongue
just like a gleaming pearl.
I don’t treat it well,
as if it were my own.
A spill, a tear, a careless fold
these are the liabilities – I’m told.
I like the crinkle that the cover makes,
lands beyond, the gliding hours of my time
I’ll beg it to romance me
to thrill me with its twists,
to turn about my world
for just a bit of bliss.
I’m almost sad it’s over,
you know it’s got to end
And as I slip it back upon its shelf,
my heart will slowly mend.
I only came to borrow, dear…
I didn’t come to buy.