Moment of Truth: Women's Funniest Romantic Catastrophes
There's a thin line between love and hate, or infatuation and disdain. Every woman can identify with the "moment of truth"—that flash of lucidity and horror that her date laughs like a horse, that her mate loves the underwear-eating dog more than she. The joys of living alone are confirmed by every story of lying, cheating, oblivious, messy, inconsiderate exes. One woman discovers the in-the-flesh odors of her Internet lover prove too much to bear: "So there I was, trying to be sensual,...
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There’s a thin line between love and hate, or infatuation and disdain. Every woman can identify with the “moment of truth”—that flash of lucidity and horror that her date laughs like a horse, that her mate loves the underwear-eating dog more than she. The joys of living alone are confirmed by every story of lying, cheating, oblivious, messy, inconsiderate exes. One woman discovers the in-the-flesh odors of her Internet lover prove too much to bear: “So there I was, trying to be sensual, focusing a great deal of attention on her breasts, which had become a scent-free oasis. It was a moment of startling clarity—when good lesbians smell bad.” Another finds her date’s pace problematic: “He nibbled my lips then a nanosecond later was standing before me wearing nothing but his socks. He triumphantly placed one foot on the couch, leaving the other on the floor. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything about how big it is?’ he inquired, nodding to the place his boxers had been just moments ago.” These women grew up knowing they didn’t need a partner in order to be complete, but in the name of love, sex, or something in between, they gave it a go anyway—with riotous results. A collection of pithy confessions that could make even Bridget Jones stop looking for a mate, The Moment of Truth helps put all those romantic disasters into perspective. Kirkus Reviews Twenty-two mostly unfunny anecdotes exploring that moment of epiphany when a woman realizes that a disastrous relationship is over. With enthusiasm but little else, Beck (co-author, Facing 30, not reviewed) brings together a series of repetitive stories chronicling lovers' angst. The experiences here hardly seem universal or amusing. In "Demon Lover," Elizabeth Matthews trysts with her lover in the park: "Soon, I associated the act of kissing him with the smell of dog shit." She lists his other shortcomings: he's a high-school dropout, has never held a job, lives in a hotel with his mother, has rotting teeth. We see the catastrophe, but where's the romance? The mood is meant to be flippant, of course, but too many of the contributors mistake salacious details for clever writing. In "The Tao of Pizza and Sex," R. Gay meets a woman on-line: "Cynthia and I exchanged pictures and she was cute enough, for a white girl, though in all her pictures, her cheeks were inexplicably rosy as if she were plagued by eternal cheer." After four months, the two decide to meet, but, alas, fair Cynthia has rank hygiene and refuses to clean up her act. Rather than confront her new lover, Gay subjects the reader to all the gory details. Poor hygiene makes several appearances in these confessions: the offending parties wander through the pages, revealing plaque-encrusted teeth, burping, and leaving pungent odors in their wake. There are a few redeeming pieces, thankfully: Rekha Kuver recites a charming tale of an eighth-grade party gone awry ("In the middle of my basement, during the middle of my party, like an unbelievable mirage or projected holographic image, were two high schoolers. . . . This was sure toelevate my boy-girl party to the level of legend. Instead, I was terrified"). Allison Kraiberg recalls her law-student lover ("an Oscar to my Felix"), proving that opposites do attract, and Alison Luterman contributes a typically stellar poem. All in all, though, insipid and dull.
\ Kirkus ReviewsTwenty-two mostly unfunny anecdotes exploring that moment of epiphany when a woman realizes that a disastrous relationship is over. With enthusiasm but little else, Beck (co-author, Facing 30, not reviewed) brings together a series of repetitive stories chronicling lovers' angst. The experiences here hardly seem universal or amusing. In "Demon Lover," Elizabeth Matthews trysts with her lover in the park: "Soon, I associated the act of kissing him with the smell of dog shit." She lists his other shortcomings: he's a high-school dropout, has never held a job, lives in a hotel with his mother, has rotting teeth. We see the catastrophe, but where's the romance? The mood is meant to be flippant, of course, but too many of the contributors mistake salacious details for clever writing. In "The Tao of Pizza and Sex," R. Gay meets a woman on-line: "Cynthia and I exchanged pictures and she was cute enough, for a white girl, though in all her pictures, her cheeks were inexplicably rosy as if she were plagued by eternal cheer." After four months, the two decide to meet, but, alas, fair Cynthia has rank hygiene and refuses to clean up her act. Rather than confront her new lover, Gay subjects the reader to all the gory details. Poor hygiene makes several appearances in these confessions: the offending parties wander through the pages, revealing plaque-encrusted teeth, burping, and leaving pungent odors in their wake. There are a few redeeming pieces, thankfully: Rekha Kuver recites a charming tale of an eighth-grade party gone awry ("In the middle of my basement, during the middle of my party, like an unbelievable mirage or projected holographic image, were two high schoolers. . . . This was sure toelevate my boy-girl party to the level of legend. Instead, I was terrified"). Allison Kraiberg recalls her law-student lover ("an Oscar to my Felix"), proving that opposites do attract, and Alison Luterman contributes a typically stellar poem. All in all, though, insipid and dull.\ \
