I'm currently reading Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About. There are moments in this book that are like little nuggets of gold:

"'I want proper grass.'
'AstroTurf is better than proper grass, it's designed specifically to be better than proper grass. It has only one reason for existence, and that's to beat grass at it's own game.'
'You just want something you don't have to mow.'
'And that makes me what? An Evil Genius?'" (34).

And yet, somehow, I haven't decided if I even like this book yet. The fights between main character Pel and his girlfriend Ursula are usually pretty funny. And, I would say, fairly accurate. As in, I could easily see John and I having these same discussions. Sort of. You see, the problem is that Pel never lightens up. He continues to narrate his story with an undying, arms-in-the-air, "What can you do? Women are crazy" attitude. The overall effect lands far short of the Nick Hornby self-deprecating British heroes I'm used to and makes me want to shout out at him, "Stop bloody whinin'!"

Not being British myself, I could never quite pull this off though. In my head, by the way, I sound just like Keira Knightley in Bend It Like Beckham -- "I was not whinin'!"

At any rate. I have reached the point of wanting to yell at the main character. And I'm only on page 66. Of 373. I see this as possibly meaning two things: 1) it's too early in the book to really draw any conclusions and the comedic elements will eventually give way to a sweet (if rather pithy) love story, or 2) women really are impossible and I'm proving some sort of point by wanting to tell him to stop whining and just go mow the grass. I feel like somewhere a man is snorting in amused disgust at my apparent ignorance.

Labels: books.

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