I finished Amy Cameron's Playing with Matches on Thursday before the massive sickness set in. It's such a quick, cute read; it's all about adventures in misdating. A sort of chicklit version of a younger Sex and the City, with only the funniest, worst, most awful dates various women of various different ages participated in.
One thing the book does do is force you to re-imagine your adventures in misdating. Like the boyfriend who told you that he forced his ex-girlfriend to have two, count them, two abortions because she was, ahem, "stupid enough to get pregnant," but that wasn't his fault. And no, I didn't run away screaming--I stayed for four more months. Wha?
Or the other boy from university who took me to a wedding, picked up two or three bridesmaids, took me home and I still slept with him. Silly ragdoll.
Oh, the stories, they go on and on, cheers to Amy Cameron for finding the humour in all of this and I encourage every woman to pick up a copy and give it a quick read, if only to feel the ever-reaching effects of feminism--our ability to take a step back and laugh at ourselves.
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