I'm dismounting my literary high horse.

I love to read.

LOVE.

If reading would slip a diamond on the third finger of my left hand, I couldn't scream YES loud or fast enough.

But over the years, I became snobby with what I read.

If it wasn't a classic, if it wasn't obscure or weird, if it didn't make girly girls cringe, I wanted no part of it.

I became a total book snob.

But recently, I've discovered the joy in chick lit. Yes. Girly books about high-powered career women and their romantic quests.

I can't get enough of the sexcapades, the cat fights, the back stabbing, the body envy, the cheating.

It's like that first sip of red wine--comforting, but it'll be even better after two glasses.

So I'd like to take a moment and apologize to chick lit.

Chick lit, I'm sorry. I was wrong and a jerk and I really want to be friends. Do you forgive me?

As for the Palahniuks, the Ellises, the Vonnegut Jrs. and the rest, I still love you. And I'll always love you.

But I can't read you in an entire day. And you just seem wrong on a treadmill or in the bath tub.

This is where you, dear reader, give me recommendations*. Bring on the pink paperbacks!

*I'm not even near ready for Twilight. So don't even try to get me to crack that one open.