“This book will take you two days to read. Did you even see the cover? It’s mostly pink. If you’re reading this book every night for months, something is not right.”
I didn’t take two days to read this book. I “took” this book to help me fall asleep over the course of three really hard pre-Advance launch weeks in our home. It was a gloriously distracting lullaby, rife with self-deprecating bits of sarcastic goodness (say that three times fast) and perfectly-timed pop culture references for girls like me who
grew up sporting Cosby sweaters and unhealthy addictions to Richard “Fishisms.” And who could write a bad review about a book that references the Anthropologie sale rack? Nope, not this girl.
Here are a few quotes:
“This is a photo of when I directed ‘Michael’s Last Dundies,’ which I also wrote. In this moment I am explaining what comedy is to Will Ferrell.”
“I looked pretty awesome—like one of Ally McBeal’s friends in cheaper material.”
“I’m only marginally qualified to be giving advice at all. My body mass index is certainly not ideal, I frequently use my debit card to buy things that cost less than three dollars because I never have cash on me, and my bedroom is so untidy it looks like vandals ransacked the Anthropologie Sale section. I’m kind of a mess.”
All silliness aside, this is what I most wanted to post from Mindy’s book. I will let you draw your own conclusions and leave it at this: Married people, let’s be psyched.
C’MON, MARRIED PEOPLE
I don’t want to hear about the endless struggles to keep sex exciting, or the work it takes to plan a date night. I want to hear that you guys watch every episode of The Bachelorette together in secret shame, or that one got the other hooked on Breaking Bad and if either watches it without the other, they’re dead meat. I want to see you guys high-five each other like teammates on a recreational softball team you both do for fun. I want to hear about it because I know it’s possible, and because I want it for myself.
I guess I think happiness can come in a bunch of forms, and maybe a marriage with tons of work makes people feel happy. But part of me still thinks … is it really so hard to make it work? What happened to being pals? I’m not complaining about Romance Being Dead—I’ve just described a happy marriage as based on talking about plants and a canceled Ray Romano show and drinking milkshakes: not exactly rose petals and gazing into each other’s eyes at the top of the Empire State Building or whatever. I’m pretty sure my parents have gazed into each other’s eyes maybe once, and that was so my mom could put eye drops in my dad’s eyes. And I’m not saying that marriage should always be easy. But we seem to get so gloomily worked up about it these days. In the Shakespearean comedies, the wedding is the end, and there isn’t much indication of what happily ever after will look like day to day. In real life, shouldn’t a wedding be an awesome party you throw with your great pal, in the presence of a bunch of your other friends? A great day, for sure, but not the beginning and certainly not the end of your friendship with a person you can’t wait to talk aboutgardening with for the next forty years…
Married people, it’s up to you. It’s entirely on your shoulders to keep this sinking institution afloat. It’s a stately old ship, and a lot of people, like me, want to get on board. Please be psyched, and convey that psychedness to us. And always remember: so many, many people are envious of what you have. You’re the star at the end of the Shakespearean play, wearing the wreath of flowers in your hair. The rest of us are just the little side characters.