Emily is 30. And single.
Her friends have fantastic husbands, adorable children, spacious homes, nice cars, so, where's Emily's big chunk of this good life?
Most of all, Emily wonders why, oh why, is she just.. so... alone?
So, Emily enlists the help of a therapist who helps her to formulate systematic lists, detailing all of the "reasons why not". These are the reasons why each of Emily's past relationships have failed.. the traits inherent to the frisky surfer boy, the charming pro-ball player, and the powerful boss's boss's boss, meant to show Emily exactly what NOT to look for the next time.
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Ok, good concept. I love a chick lit centering around some kind of personal revelation with a dose of sensitive struggle and a heaping spoonful of clinical therapy.
But... maybe it's just me... let me know if you've read this gem... I thought Emily was, simply put, a big idiot.
I get that chick-lit often starts the spoiled, shallow brat that blossoms into a lovely state of self-actualization after climbing through a mountain of not-always-so-insurmountable-obstacles, but this self-professed heroine never even comes close to such bliss. In fact, you just get the feeling that she's continuing through therapy to find a round-about-way into the therapist's pants.
Quick read, and some of the tales of romantic woe were entertaining enough that I might even tell you to give the book a chance. Just don't expect any character progression whatsoever and you'll be fine.
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