Welcome to the Disaster Zone: My Worst Book Club Experience Ever

Today, I bring you the tragicomic saga of my plunge into the abyss of what could only be described as the worst book club experience in the history of book clubs. Buckle up, because this journey is fraught with cat hair, phobias, and a pinch of awkward feminism.

Let’s set the scene.

One sunny February afternoon, while waiting in front of my kid’s school for the bell to ring,   I struck up a casual conversation with another mom. We seemed to hit it off, and she invited me to her book club. The book the group was reading was J. K. Rowling’s Casual Vacancy. I was thrilled.

The next day, I stopped at a bookstore and bought the hard cover, eager to dive in right after the kids were tucked in. Three pages in, I knew I was in trouble. This wasn’t anything like Harry Potter, and nothing I would ever pick of my volition.

This Is Not a Book Review…But

I won’t turn this blog post into a book review, but let’s just say, it took a major commitment for me to plow through the chapters. I was the wrong audience for this novel.

During those days, I felt an obligation to finish every book I started. Let’s just say I have matured since. I put myself under so much pressure to continue reading, as the book club meeting date was getting closer, I felt anxious every time I glimpsed the cover.

On the Book Club Sunday

I had to go to work right after church. A large group booked my pottery studio the night before and all their projects needed to be glazed. My staff was very busy hosting several birthday parties, so I told them I would drop by and take care of the glazing.

Let me just say there was a lot more stuff to take care of than I expected. I ran out of time and had to message my friend that not only I would be late for the meeting but would also come wearing  my work close. Was that okay? I was assured that would be no problem.

When I finally walked through her front door and entered the living room, I paused. Imagine a circle of women, dressed for an evening out, sitting in a quaint room straight out of a cat lover’s paradise.

I Love Cats

But this was another level. Everywhere I turned, there were mountains of cat hair. And when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere. It clung to the furniture, my clothes, and even to my Ritz cracker. My eyes watered and the allergies kicked in.

Now, I’m not one to judge pet preferences, but imagine my dismay when I realized there were pet rats in cages stacked along one of the living room walls. Yes, rats. Caged, thank goodness, but still… rats.

My Phobia

Did I mention I have a debilitating fear of rodents? It was like a personal nightmare come to life, surrounded by twitching whiskers and beady eyes while my friend rattled off their names and favorite things to do. I silently wondered if the next thing on the list would be an introduction to a giant anaconda. You see, snakes and I also don’t play well.

I Can Do This

Mildly traumatized, I sat on the hairy sofa, thinking that my glaze splattered jeans were actually the most suitable attire for this event. And then I wondered how I would explain that I didn’t even finish the book we were about to discuss. I struggled past half, but as I drudged through pages describing teenage body functions and places I’d rather never visit, I came to a full stop.

Feeling like a complete failure, I declined the offered coffee and looked around the room. Our hostess introduced each of her friends and we exchanged polite smiles. The chatter went on, leaving me to wonder at what point would I be able to express my struggle with the pages? How would I disclose the awful truth that, for the first time in my adult life, I couldn’t endure the remaining chapters?

Then Again, Maybe I Can’t

I checked my phone, then tuned into their discussion. And what a discussion it was. The conversation somehow veered to a nostalgic dive into their first boyfriends and teen exploits–in a bedroom. I was horrified. Checking my phone again, I wondered if it would be rude to fake an emergency and leave.

I took a deep breath, choked on cat hair, and told myself I could do this. As intriguing as it was to learn about someone’s first fling at fourteen, I couldn’t help but wonder if we were all collectively avoiding the literary elephant in the room.

Pièce de Résistance

Then came the pièce de résistance: the discussion about birth control, and  feminism. A question was asked:

“Do our girls have an adequate appreciation for what the feminist movement had done for them?”

I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer.
“Of course they don’t.” I blurted out.

All eyes were instantly on me.

“How could they. They have no idea what women had to deal with only a few decades ago.” And then I simply asked. “Are we going to discuss the book anytime soon? I have to make dinner.”

There was a bit of uncomfortable shifting in the seats, followed by a few strained smiles.

“We have already discussed the book. Before you got here,” the hostess informed me.

In fifteen minutes? I must have frowned, because she immediately followed with,

“But why don’t you share your thoughts?”

My Confession

So, I did. Confessing the disappointment in my inability to finish this literary work. Stating that I was puzzled, why would this amazing author venture into writing this book in a first place? She was a hero to my children, who grew up reading her novels and loved Harry Potter.

All I got were icy stares. And then I understood I have unknowingly entered the wrong camp.

The discussion quickly turned toward ‘the rich’, which I was presumably part of, as I owned my own business and drove a German car.

With the last bits of my courage, I pointed out that J.K. Rawling is not exactly poor.

I was reminded of her back story, which I personally find fascinating, but at that point I had decided to hold my peace.

The Escape Plan  

I examined a piece of cheddar laid out on the cheese platter. Not seeing any hair, I bravely picked it up and ate it, mainly to prevent myself from speaking.

As our afternoon neared supper hour, I decided it was high time for me to exit. I thanked everyone for including me in the meeting. I must have made an impression, because as I was about to exit the front door, I was invited to a sleepover to celebrate International Women’s Day. I bit my tongue. Obviously, none of these women knew my back story.

As the hostess walked me to my car, she assured me that she would text me with the date for the next book club meeting. Thankfully, I have never received that message.

 A Word to the Wise

So, dear readers, if you ever find yourself invited to a book club that promises excitement but delivers chaos, heed my warning: beware the cat hair, brace yourself for the unexpected pet choices, and for the love of all things readable, check the book selection beforehand.

Until next time, may your books be engaging, your discussions coherent, and your furniture blissfully free of fur. Stay literate, my friends. Click the link to get your free Tips Sheet for Starting and Sustaining a Book Club.