Augusten said, “You Better Not Cry,” and I did.

Last week, I finished the latest masterpiece by Augusten Burroughs.


He did not disappoint.

If you’re having a particularly bad time this season, read all 206 pages.

Follow this prescription and you will smile.

Throughout the years, holidays and birthdays have been tough for me. Society forces happiness which stresses me out and only induces the opposite to occur. I expect the worst to happen. But don’t look at me too critically. The Challenger blew up on my 13th birthday and my daughter’s 1st birthday fell on Sept. 11th 2001, so my pessimism isn’t completely unfounded.

From his belief that Santa and Jesus were the same person, to his Kahlua-induced blackouts, Burroughs extracts hilarity and puts it on display for your enjoyment.

And many times, I found myself saying, “Me too. Me too.” How did this man get a hold of my journal?

Disclaimer: His relationship with George did result in copious tear production. Do not read this book if you dislike laughing. Do not read this book if you can’t read.

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