Light Summer Reading

  Maybe it’s the heat, but there’s nothing like good high-end fluff to keep you company on a sultry Sunday afternoon.

  Happens every summer.

  History goes on hiatus as I haul out cheesy, breezy reads…the cotton candy of literature.

  My library has two floors of fiction-light to roam through.

  My latest find is Renee Rosen, a cross between Candace Bushnell and Carrie Fisher, with a little Jane Austen tossed in for credibility.

  Junk written well. I laugh at myself after all the times I’ve indignantly said…I never read fiction unless it’s classic, and even then prefer what’s true.

  What a schmuck. Yes, I’m calling myself out as I sit here with a tower of Rosens I can’t wait to read.

   It started with Park Avenue Summer when she kicks off with the demise at 90, of Cosmopolitan’s Helen Gurley Brown weaving a story wrapped around actual events of the Sex and the Single Girl’s travails at the legendary magazine.

   I truly couldn’t put it down. When someone writes fun-fiction who can grammatically enhance, it’s like eating a Big Mac on a Limoges porcelain platter.

   Last summer I remember it was Marie Benedict with a Gabrielle Zevin chaser, courtesy of my friend Joanne, who too is never without a book, lofty or otherwise.

  This brings me back to last Sunday.

  A pompous ass at the library shook his head before saying when he saw the stack of novels I was checking out, “Are you kidding? With all the new nonfiction on the shelf, that’s what you’re taking out?”

   No, I didn’t rip him a new one, though it did cross my mind since his pedigree was showing like a schnauzer thinking he was smarter than a mutt like me, and much more boring I’ll add.

   “I think of it as light summer reading,” I said, purposely not looking at him.

   “Really. Light did you say? What’s next, The Cat In The Hat?” chuckling, pleased with himself for making a joke. “

    “Actually, it’s one of my favorite books. Thanks for reminding me. Excuse me while I go get it.”

     You overdressed asshole on a hot Sunday afternoon.

      No, I didn’t say that.   

SB