So, last night, I read a book. This book, to be exact.

By that, I do not mean that I picked it back up after so many days of reading and happened to finish it last night before I went to sleep at a reasonable hour. Oh, no. Quite no. Instead, I mean to say that I hadn't yet opened the book or taken the price sticker off of the back*, let alone started reading it, before I climbed into bed at approximately 9:50 p.m. and grabbed it from the top of the "to be read" stack on my nightstand.

I finished sometime between 2:00 a.m. and 4:30 a.m. Kind of a big window, yes, but at 12:45, I vacated our bedroom and took up shop in the guest bedroom (which has no clock), because I figured that, if the light from my lamp didn't keep Ben from getting a good night's sleep, my laughing out loud and occasionally repositioning myself and the pillows as I continued to read into the wee hours surely would.

So, I have no idea what time I actually went to sleep, but I know that super-early morning traffic started to pick up before I was able to even get properly sleepy all hopped up on a "good read" buzz, so 4:30 is my best guess.

But back to the book. Yes, it was that good. I mean, it wasn't Anna Karenina (dark, deep, super-meaningful) or anything, but it certainly had its moments. It was more like a really good, romantic, cheesy chick movie (or TV show) I can watch over and over again (see: Wimbledon, Sliding Doors, Serendipity, S&tC, etc., etc.,), as evidenced by the fact that instead of working for a good portion of today, I caught up on the sleep I missed last night and went back and re-read the best parts of the book.

Yeah. I'm that girl.

I can't even explain it. It was just really good chick lit, which makes me throw up a little in my mouth to even type. But there you have it. I read chick lit and I like it. There. I said it. Does that make me a cliche? Does it make me boring? Predictable? Mindless? Suburban? Lame? Sad? Oh So-Very Married and Thirty? Nah...I don't think so. I think it makes me more well-rounded. Yeah, we'll go with that.

Anyway, I decided to put the book in the closet today, lest I be tempted to go back and read it for a third time in fewer than 48 hours...without being able to explain exactly why. And it has suddenly occurred to me that I could just go open the door three feet away from me and re-read it again rather quickly and no one would have to know (or get hurt), but I think I should offer to share it with anyone local in need of a good, quick, girly read. But if I need a fix, you have to promise to at least let me sniff the page you're on when I'm in the vicinity of the book, please.

Also, I ordered the author's first book today from Amazon. It should be here tomorrow, so I may wait before getting too involved in the book I started earlier today to get my mind off of the one I can't stop reading like it's crack. If her first book is anything like the second, I may as well just go ahead and plan to spend a night reading it, and part of the next day re-reading it, before I commit to anything else.


Oh, and props to my husband for picking it up off the shelf at Target and saying, "I think this sounds like something you'd like." So like, 1,000 points for him.


And P.S.: An excerpt from a review at All Things Girl, just to prove how not-alone I am in this: "As rich and fulfilling as Elisabeth’s Cherry Clafouti, Seeing Me Naked is a simply fabulous read. Calling it mere “chick lit” is like calling a glass of Big Fire Pinot Noir a simple glass of wine. It’s rich and masterful while being down to earth and simply real. I’ve already read it twice, and have passed it on to my best friend to devour."

So. There. Maybe I am a little bit crazy, but at least I'm not alone.



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*So, before I start a new book, the absolute first thing I have to do is remove any price or "Borders 20% off" stickers from the thing, otherwise that sticker will drive me absolutely crazy, and I won't be able to concentrate on what I'm reading for all of the fiddling with and peeling, curling, obsessively playing with the stickers all over the book. And then, I'll have to constantly go back and re-read passages, because I'll all of a sudden start paying attention and think, "OMG!!! Stop playing with the sticker!", which of course reminds me that the sticker is there and ready to be played with again and again, until it falls off the book, and I lose my place and forget who the main character is, and start wondering to myself, "When did that happen? Did I miss something?" And before I know it, I'm playing with the damn sticker again. Ugh. Just say "no" to stickers.