An Ode to Chick Lit

When I am tired,
(not, "oh, what a rough day!" tired,
but "this month, i just cannot think" tired),
you are there.

You lure me with your bright covers,
your high heeled shoe motifs,
your titles ending in "-aholic",
your heroines who are strong and oh-so-stupid
(stupider than I am, which is the key, really).

A special thank you to the publishers,
who keep producing enough to fill an entire section
of the bookstore-
and to provide an occasional "Chick Lit 101" sidebar box
in my Entertainment Weekly.

Meg Cabot, thank you for the Queen of Babble.
Jen Weiner, you may have risen above, but you still walk In Her Shoes.
Helen Fielding, did you start it all with the Bridget's Diary?
I don't care. Just keep it coming.

Because when I'm tired,
I still want to read.
Because when I'm 34 and single,
I still want to believe I could fall in love with the hardware store owner's son on my block who I thought was dating my subletter but was really her brother all along.
Because I may only listen to NPR,
but I'm not above carrying a pink book
with an engagment ring on the cover and
unabashedly reading it on the T.

Amen.