Confessions of a Dealbreaker

I was thinking about the "It's not you, it's your taste in books" article, and decided it's probably unfair to make fun of someone's taste in books (even if it is their own writing). I mean, I've no doubt broken someone's determination to be(frien)d me with my choice of books. Though the article justly points out that men would probably not dump a good-looking woman just because she read "Atlas Shrugged"...which isn't to say I'm hot, but oh whatever I'm too old to pretend I think I'm plain. Soooo I think it will be healthy to examine how we, or in this case I, have matured as readers, by confessing to some of our literary sins.

My favorite book during the 9th grade? Friggin' Joy Luck Club. I wanted to be Chinese so badly after reading that book. Now I'm so embarrassed I could die. Die eating opium filled dumplings...

In junior high, I actually read a book with a title like, "How to Make Friends." Secretly. In the library. During lunch. I'd pull it out of the stacks and surreptitiously gain knowledge -- e.g. "When making phone calls, always be the one to end it. This way the person on the other line will want to call you next time."

I'm so scared of being one of those people who has to admit they loved Million Little Pieces that to this day I won't read, or talk about having read anything selling really well. [Julia, that's the real reason I would never read Eat Pray Love.]

Conversely, I have at one point probably lied to you about having read more than ten pages of any of the following:

Jonathan Fill-in-the-blank
Paulster
McSweeney's (though I find it convenient its founder's name sounds frighteningly like a certain racist epithet starting with the letter 'n,' since he's also a durogatory epithet.)
Orientalism

Ah! I feel cleansed. Washed through the holy waters of unembellished truthiness.