I Say I Joined, but Really I Had No Choice

If you lament to your mother that you can't seem to find any places to make friends often enough, eventually she will talk you into coming to her neighbor's book club.

A half hour into the meeting, you're accepting the offer of a refill on your wine glass to take the edge off the bombardment of "girl talk"--or rather the talk of married/divorced women my age and older. Including Mom.

After we talk about the book for about five to ten minutes, of course.

* * * *

I'll get into the more specific details of how I came to join the Neighborhood Book Club in the next post, but for now here's the gist of why I started this blog:

1. I like to read and I like talking about books I've read.

2. Book clubs make people read books they probably would never read in a million years--at least, in my case it is true. (So get ready for some rants and hopefully a few "pleasantly surprised" admissions.)

3. The Twist: I am the only single, never-married woman in the group. (And possibly the youngest but I can't confirm without point-blank asking everyone).

4. The Sub-Twist: Most of the members live in my parents' neighborhood--i.e., my childhood home. And a few members are longtime residents. (Prepare for some awkward moments.)


So, pour yourself a nice beverage, pull out your library card, your Amazon account, or your Kindle, and stay tuned for reading notes, meeting minutes, and all the surrounding drama/hilarity/insanity.

Because there will be some of each at every month's meeting.