It's kind of embarrassing how much I like good chick-lit. Plus I imbibed the middle 250 pages of this lying in a bubble bath polishing off a bottle of wine. That's like -20 man points at least. Fortunately I spent most of the day with tractors and chainsaws. Net I'm probably only at -5. Totally worth it.

I am shocked that this is a debut novel. It is such a wonderful change of pace to read a book by someone who can actually write. It takes a special kind of talent to have a main character who is clearly dysfunctional and make them relatable. I hate it when I spend an entire book thinking, why are you doing so many short sighted stupid things. With this book I never asked that question. It was more like omigod we're about to do something stupid but the train has already rolled out of the station.

I've never believed that the language of flower's (as in the meaning ascribed to plants, not this book) was unequivocal but I have always felt that an arrangement could speak in ways that words cannot. If a picture is worth a thousand words, a bouquet is at least worth a hundred words* and a poem written with flowers, well that would be priceless. Before I head into spoiler land, let me just say go read it for yourself.

* yeah so I said flowers can say things words cannot and then I say how many words to which they are equivalent -- so sue me.