4.5 Stars
“Let’s not call Fig a stalker just yet. You just met her.”
I didn’t ask for a lot this Christmas . . . .
However, since life is unfair I didn’t get any of those things. Instead I got Bad Mommy released on Christmas Day rather than some time in 2017. And for that I say, Tarryn Fisher . . . .
Okay, so THIS is the Tarryn Fisher book I’ve been waiting for. If you follow my reviews, you know I’ma little obsessed with kind of a fan of Ms. Fisher . . . . but at the same time I’ve been a bit disappointed by most of her books. I kept buying them, though, hoping she’d come through with the guilty pleasure-shoveling popcorn in my face story I knew was in her. Bad Mommy was that story.
Meet Fig . . . .
“All of the Lululemon bitches and their coconut water could go to hell.”
I was on board with Fig pretty much from the start . . . . .
She was delightfully fucked up in and totally in denial regarding the fact that . . . .
Especially when it came to the other female lead in our tale . . . .
Oh Jolene . . . .
“She wears things that make the other mothers look, you know? Leather pants, a Nirvana T-shirt underneath a blazer, more bracelets than I’ve ever seen anyone else pile onto their wrist.”
In other words . . . . .
Now, I’ve said a time or two before that Tarryn Fisher has made a habit of writing herself in her stories. Many other authors do this as well, but they generally tend to make my reading experience less enjoyable by doing so. Buuuuuuuuuuut it’s different when Tarryn does it because . . . . .
Anywho, Fig moves next door to Jolene and her husband – for reasons . . . .
“You’re buying a house to be close to a child you think has the soul of your miscarried baby.”
But I’m telling you by the time you get to the end of the book you’ll pretty much have forgotten about that effing kid ‘cause the crazy will take you errrrrrrrrrywhere. You think you’re signing up for a bunch of . . . .
Or a Single White Female rip off, but right when you’re thinking your own quest of finding the perfect gray knee-length cardigan a wedge-heeled booties might be crossing the line to Mean Girl territory . . . .
You start reading about pops of teal and the perfect placement of a “Thug Life” cookbook on Jolene’s countertop that makes you start to question just who is stalking whom . . .
(^^^^Sluttiest chicken ever cooked.)
Totally meta.
Bought with my own money because Santa only left me coal.
I didn’t ask for a lot this Christmas . . . .
However, since life is unfair I didn’t get any of those things. Instead I got Bad Mommy released on Christmas Day rather than some time in 2017. And for that I say, Tarryn Fisher . . . .
Okay, so THIS is the Tarryn Fisher book I’ve been waiting for. If you follow my reviews, you know I’m
Meet Fig . . . .
“All of the Lululemon bitches and their coconut water could go to hell.”
I was on board with Fig pretty much from the start . . . . .
She was delightfully fucked up in and totally in denial regarding the fact that . . . .
Especially when it came to the other female lead in our tale . . . .
Oh Jolene . . . .
“She wears things that make the other mothers look, you know? Leather pants, a Nirvana T-shirt underneath a blazer, more bracelets than I’ve ever seen anyone else pile onto their wrist.”
In other words . . . . .
Now, I’ve said a time or two before that Tarryn Fisher has made a habit of writing herself in her stories. Many other authors do this as well, but they generally tend to make my reading experience less enjoyable by doing so. Buuuuuuuuuuut it’s different when Tarryn does it because . . . . .
Anywho, Fig moves next door to Jolene and her husband – for reasons . . . .
“You’re buying a house to be close to a child you think has the soul of your miscarried baby.”
But I’m telling you by the time you get to the end of the book you’ll pretty much have forgotten about that effing kid ‘cause the crazy will take you errrrrrrrrrywhere. You think you’re signing up for a bunch of . . . .
Or a Single White Female rip off, but right when you’re thinking your own quest of finding the perfect gray knee-length cardigan a wedge-heeled booties might be crossing the line to Mean Girl territory . . . .
You start reading about pops of teal and the perfect placement of a “Thug Life” cookbook on Jolene’s countertop that makes you start to question just who is stalking whom . . .
(^^^^Sluttiest chicken ever cooked.)
Totally meta.
Bought with my own money because Santa only left me coal.
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