Wednesday, September 01, 2004


I got my first taste of chick-lit today as I was reading over the shoulder of a wannabe fashionista on the streetcar ride home. It was a Sophie Kinsella book whose cover matched the reader's handbag [I've always been fastidious in matching sock colours/elements to shirt colours, but now must I match the colour of my book to my clothing as well?].

After sampling a few passages before and after re-shifting between sardine-like bodies, I really couldn't ascertain what all the fuss is about. It's essentially mindless drivel, along with lots of, er, banal conversations, and plenty of references to mango smoothies and coffee beverages. If I had been able to read along some more, I'm quite sure that the obligatory crantini reference would have also arisen.

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