Last night, I hosted my very first book club. We read “The Girl on The Train” by Paula Hawkins, and I printed out discussion guides with color coded questions. I made caprese salad and Brussels sprouts and this delicious pasta I found on Pinterest that I only slightly over seasoned, and we all had matching dishes and wine glasses. I had a cheese tray on this cool slate and labeled it with chalk: “Artisan White Cheddar” and “Cabernet Gouda.”
Seriously, y’all, this was grown up as shit.
Walking through the grocery store Monday night, I was buying the stuff for cooking and looking at others with this new found smugness thinking, “I host books clubs now, so I’m like super adult and cultured and well read and trendy and this grocery store is so bourgeoisie. I’m more of a farmers market and produce co-op girl now. I should start growing my own herbs.”
Don’t worry. No one would have ever known what an ass I was being in my head because seeing a cart stocked with tampons and $8 wine isn’t really the first sign you’re dealing with the new cultural elite.
I’ll give you one guess as to how this turned out…
If you guessed “you accidentally got so hammered that you threw up and passed out before your guests even left” you were right! Also if you guessed that, you can come to my next book club because it means that you know me and you have pretty low standards for grown up social engagements which is awesome because obviously that’s where I set the bar as well.
Apparently I’m still working on the extremely fine line between book clubs and frat parties.
Thankfully Sarah, Renee, and Leigh also have pretty low standards and have been sending texts all morning about their monster hangovers.
I’m pretty sure it’s still not safe for me to drive.
Also did I hit my knee on something last night? I can barely walk…
And my personal favorite from Renee:
Y’all, I’m at the doctor and I’m legit worried that my allergist is going to have to talk to me about alcohol abuse this morning. There’s no way he won’t notice that I’m still drunk.
The irony is not lost on us that our book was about a raging alcoholic. Maybe next time we will read Hunter S. Thompson’s “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” and trade artisan cheese for a candy dish of psychedelic drugs.
You know you’re at least a little bit interested to see how that would shake out .
Book Review: The book was really good. You should read it. I can literally say nothing more than that for fear of spoiling it. Just trust me on this. Buy it here: The Girl on the Train