I'm addicted to houses, and I love hearing people's tales of how they came to live where -- and how -- they do. So it was with a great deal of excitement that I cracked open Megan Daum's memoir. But what was excitement soon turned into boredom -- I felt like I was listening in on a therapy session, with a stream-of-consciousness dialog about her relationship to houses, roommates, and moving.
After she moved the tenth time in her college years, I'd had about enough.
And when she threw her poor roommate brad out for the heinous "crime" of covering gorgeous floors with blue carpeting... well, I think SHE is the one with the issues, npt him.
The whole thing felt forced, and not particularly interesting (or self-revelatory). There's a lesson in here somewhere, but I'm not sure she learned it.
I won't be finishing this one.Get more detail about Life Would Be Perfect If I Lived in That House.
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