Today at work, a laborer whom we all admire in our own special ways swung by today to grace us with his flattery and flirtation. He's about my height, and with the looks, tattoos and build of an X-Men character - if only I could tell which side he was on. He always tells me how pretty I look and that I don't need make-up because I'm a natural beauty. Sighhhh. Today he told me I looked cute like a schoolteacher (I had my glasses on because the wind's still wreaking havoc on my contact lenses). I enjoy the attention a little bit, but I know that men of his build (he's a bodyguard on the weekends, so he works out 6 days a week) are notorious for having small penises and premature ejaculations. Plus he's been married 6 BILLION times and I would constantly feel like the future ex-Mrs. X-Man. So really, I just don't think he's for me.

I read a book this weekend during several moments when I was trying to rest my frankentoes -

Doh! Time for a song: Frankentoes, Frankentoes, does whatever a frankentoe does....

Okay, back to the book.

Little Children by Tom Perotta. I give him props for being such a good writer, because usually I can't get through this type of story. The moment I closed the covers I thought, "hunh. reminds me of john cheever or raymond carver." But I don't like Cheever or Carver. They were forced upon me by my favorite professor. John Cheever and Raymond Carver specialize in the dark lower-to-middle-class suburban marriage stories. The American Dream, descaled. Unpleasant. And I always hope that these stories are not a true reflection of our society. Especially since Perotta's writing several decades after Cheever and Carver. I don't want to believe that in all these years, it's all still the same - marrying because it's expected, because it's politically strategic in one vein or another, because you just really don't know what else to do. And the gender relations issues as well - I mean, have we really just been running in circles? Yes, women can work now - WOOHOO! Now women are expected to carry the same houseload we always maintained with the addition of a full-time job! Congratulations, ladies, this is what we've fought for. But good luck climbing the ladder, because guess who's gonna stay home with the sick children that you're expected to have because you're married and that's what married people do? Yup, you guessed it - because it's highly probable that the male counterpart will always make more money than you do, making your time at work more expendable. And children get sick ALL THE TIME. These stories, they're so - I don't know what the word is. Not just dark. Deflated. As though there really is no such thing as love or romance. And I just don't believe that. See? I'm not TOTALLY Carrie Bradshaw. I believe that marriage is a contract, but one that should be entered due to a state of mutual love and commitment to each other.

Christ. I need to stop reading.

My question after all of this is, why is unhappiness so much more interesting for writers to delve than happiness?