Gushing In Progress

I'm not one to gush. If I don't like something, I have a very hard time pretending I do. The artful lie is just not one of my skills. Hair, clothes, food, books. Nothing is safe. When a restaurant manager stops by our table to see how things are, my husband cringes because I don't ever say "fine" when things aren't. If I got a rotten tomato in my salad, don't expect me to tell you things were peachy. Same goes for shopping with me. You try on a dress that makes you look like Attila the Ham Smuggler and I'm going to tell you that dress is not for you. Why would I let a friend walk around in any less than fabulous?

Which brings me to a book I read yesterday. It just might be the best piece of women's fiction I've read in the last ten years. Or ever. I can't think of a book in this category that I like better. This book even made me cry and - hello - I am NOT a weeper.

The book is Jane Porter's Flirting With Forty and it is fan-freaking-tastic. I read it in a matter of hours.
But there's more to this book than its entertainment value. It makes you think. About your life, about what personal happiness means, about how you see yourself, about how others see you. Don't be fooled by the cover - this isn't some fluffy chick lit (no offense intended, I love fluffy chick lit).

If this book doesn't move you, you might be dead. Read it and see for yourself.