Feeling Like an Idiot

I just read this book. It's called "Someday My Prince Will Come," by Jerramy Fine. It was kinda fun, I have to admit that it kept me reading. However, it also kinda drove me crazy. This is not a novel, it's the memoir of a woman just a few years younger than myself who was raised by a set of very bohemian parents in Colorado, but she was totally obsessed with England, royalty, and marrying a prince. It definitely had its charming moments, ...well, here's the review I wrote about it on my goodreads page:

It's hard to know what to say about this book. The author definitely has a fun writing style that keeps you turning pages, and in some ways I sympathized with her plight because it was so real to her. And in other ways I wanted to slap her silly and ask her what her problem was. She came off as being pretty obsessive, slutty, alcoholic, psycho and a credit card maniac. Two hundred thousand dollars in debt? Get a hold of yourself! Also, her parents were the target of much sarcastic humor tha...more "It's hard to know what to say about this book. The author definitely has a fun writing style that keeps you turning pages, and in some ways I sympathized with her plight because it was so real to her. And in other ways I wanted to slap her silly and ask her what her problem was. She came off as being pretty obsessive, slutty, alcoholic, psycho and a credit card maniac. Two hundred thousand dollars in debt? Get a hold of yourself! Also, her parents were the target of much sarcastic humor that began to feel cruel to me. She gave them a little credit in the end, thankfully. Her big statement at the conclusion of the book about everything she had learned was full of things that I felt were obvious from the beginning, that any rational creature might already have been aware of and that I was internally screaming at her throughout the book. Now that I've trashed the book I must say that I did get caught up in her story and that I have some interest England myself, so it had its good points. I loved her footnotes."

I reread my comments several times before I posted them to make sure they were really how I felt, and they really are how I feel. However, this morning I received an email letting me know that I had a message from Jerramy Fine waiting for me in my goodreads account. Gulp. I guess when I so flippantly shredded her I wasn't expecting her to read my comments and then write back. Here's what she had to say:

Hi Rachel,
Just letting you know that my debt was 95% higher-education-related! Overseas masters degrees cost a lot - especially when combined with four years of a private US university that my parents couldn't afford to fund on my behalf. Luckily, the American government gave me loans for the full amount of both schools - but sadly 200K is how much debt I racked up for the sake of a good education. I have many friends with MBA and law degrees that are in similar (or worse) financial positions.
Royally yours,
Jerramy

Yeah, I'm feeling like a jerk. I have to admit that I known the actual author would be reading I probably would have used words like "boy crazy" instead of "slutty," "sure drinks a lot" rather than "alcoholic"....and would have left out the "psycho" all together. I get a little passionate with my opinions sometimes and throw words out that are probably stronger than I mean them to be,. Sometimes I think I'm being funny. I'm sure it's kind of hard to have your very first book be a memoir of yourself and just lay yourself out there like that, and then get trashed. At the same time, I still stand by my feelings. She did choose a very expensive graduate school in London just because it was in London. I am certainly a little star struck. Why am I suddenly wanting to make a good impression on her? So I need a verdict - do I write a note back to her saying sorry I'm a jerk? Am I a jerk? Do I really want you to answer that?


Other random notes from the week:

Bitty has returned! Yesterday was the first day in over a week that Bitty was more herself. It was a wonderful day. She was happy, playful, silly and chatty. What a relief. She had been so miserable for so many days that we were all a little miserable. Of course, I think she's still got an ear infection, but if you think I'm going back for more antibiotics, well, I'm not. She said something kind of cute yesterday - she saw a square of light on the floor of the otherwise dim kitchen and said, "Look, a good-morning shadow!" She calls all things light "good morning" and all things dark "good night." When she wants the lights on she asks for good morning time. If she wants to get out of bed she insists that it is good morning time. Kinda cute, I think.

Stomper has been a real trooper this week as I've been so preoccupied with his sister. My favorites of his activities of the week have been him hiding all his remaining Easter candy behind the closet door in his bedroom, "to store it for the winter," as he told me. Of course, every time he came out of his room he seemed to be chewing and drooling strands of brown, so I don't think it will make it all the way to next winter. Luckily there wasn't much back there or I might have had to do something alarming like set limits or use parenting skills. I think three mini snickers won't do much harm. Also, he's been so sweet at bedtime. When I worked up at Brighton LDS Girl's Camp there was (and certainly still is) a song that the staff sings together every night to say goodnight. It's called Shadows Creep - when you're ready to sing it you say, "Let's creep!" Well, Stomper loves that song and this whole week has asked me to sing it. He says that he can't go to sleep unless I sing it, and has even said, "Mom, if you're ready for me to go to sleep then you should sing Shadows Creep." When I start singing it he instantly shuts his eyes and composes his face into the most peaceful state he can. It warms my heart. I'm a little tempted to start singing it at 7:15 tonight.

And one final note: any of you ever buy your kids Polly Pockets? Who...WHO decided that those little tiny dollies needed their own shoes? Shoes that are less than a centimeter in length? And what possessed me to be one of those purchasers? I had to ask this question as I found myself on my hands and needs, my cheek pressed to my living room floor frantically searching for the minuscule object as my daughter trailed behind me, weeping. Could the shoe in question at least been one of the pink ones? No, it was, of course, Cinderella's glass slipper, so it was a clear object less than one centimeter long and only a couple of millimeters wide I was searching for. Just so you know, I did find it, and now all the polly pockets are locked safely in their little box and are on the top shelf. Now that's logic for you.