A friend that I have here in Covington wanted company going across the Ohio River to Cincinnati for a doctor’s appointment yesterday morning. I normally don’t do this type of thing, but he caught me at a weak moment. I said I would go.
Getting ready to meet up with him, I had regrets. Because of Hurricane Sandy on the East Coast, the weather here was shitty, but a deal was a deal.
He doesn’t drive and I don’t either, so that means taking the bus. I like to read on the bus and usually take a book with me. On this particular morning I took “In the Drink,” a novel written by Kate Christensen.
My friend doesn’t do a lot of talking which is fine with me. On the bus, I was busy reading my book.
“What are you reading?” by friend asked. I showed him the cover.
“Oh, I’ve heard of that book,” he said. I nodded my head and continued reading.
He didn’t say anything else for a minute, but then said, “Why are you reading a chick lit book?”
“A chick lit book,” he said. “It’s a book written for women.”
“It is?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he replied. “It’s like that ‘Bridget Jones’s Diary’ book. Chicks love that kind of stuff.”
“OK,” I said.
I went back to reading my book. A few minutes later my friend said with a chuckle in his voice, “Are you a chick?”
“Apparently,” I said, feeling annoyed. “I read this a couple years ago and enjoyed it so much, I’m reading it again.”
My friend just looked at me.
“Have you ever read a chick lit book?” I asked.
“Then you really don’t know what you’re talking about.” I replied.
I turned my attention back to the book. We made it the rest of the way to Cincinnati in silence.
I don’t think there is any such thing as a “Chick lit” book. A reader can read what a reader wants to read and the next time my friend has a doctor’s appointment, he can go by himself, even if the weather is perfect.
(Image from goodreads.com)