It's almost embarrassing for me to read a Celia Rivenbark book because I sometimes cannot control my laughter, to the point that I am snorting and practically in need of an oxygen tank. Like We're Just Like You, Only Prettier (my review here), this book by Rivenbark is a running commentary on various absurdities in America, and, particularly, in the South. You don't have to be a Southerner, or a transplant, to appreciate Rivenbark's books, however; her satire transcends the South, and she hits on subjects ranging from parenting to ballet to cancer-smelling dogs.
On parenting: "If you ask me, the Supernanny should put the parents, not the kids, in the naughty room and not let them out until Mom promises to buy some clothes that fit and Dad can stop being such a wimp. ('Brandon calls his Mama names and I just wanna cry!') Grow a spine, you freak. It's time to 'man up'!
On ballet: "Ballet is beautiful, but I'm a new soul, incapable of appreciating scene after scene of young girls standing on their toes and mincing about and then standing on their toes and mincing about some more. And the plots? Sneaky fairies and magic feathers and stuff. Oh, just let me eat my own flesh till I quietly disappear."
On cancer-smelling dogs: "I hate to admit this, but it's obvious: Dogs have it all over my beloved but totally useless housecats. I could drive up to the house on four flat tires, with a ticking bomb and a kilo of cocaine in the trunk, tumors hanging off me as big as pie plates. and my selfish cats would just yawn, stretch, and go back to sleep."
Pulled-out of context, these quotes can't possibly do Rivenbark justice. I am really not a comedy person, but writers like Dave Barry and Celia Rivenbark send me into hysterics. And that's a fun place to be, even when it does leave the rest of my family saying, "What? What? What's so funny?" Some things you just can't explain.