I genuinely can't believe how boring this book was. I reached a point where I just started skimming, in hopes that there would eventually be a plot. There isn't. This is, literally, a collection of diary entries about the disconnected events of the author's extremely boring life: A tree in her yard is destroyed, she watches The Bachelorette, a friend has an affair, she visits a museum. I'm not exaggerating -- my own personal diary is probably more interesting. I have no idea why this book exists. Towards the end, I was gleefully finishing it just so I could officially mark it as the lowest-rated book I have ever read for my book club. A couple of the vignettes are mildly amusing, which is the only reason I gave it a single star, and some of her turns of phrase have a charmingly dry sense of humor.