Oh, my dear god. Holy mother of god. Motherfucking what the fucking hell did I just read? :O
I'm sorry to say this, but Shae Buggs bugs the motherfucking hell out of me. She has absolutely no sense of grammar. At all. To say that the tense is all over the place would be an understatement. It was so bad, it literally gave me a headache. And she's a bestselling author? What? How? Did she make her family and friends buy her books in bulk? I'm sorry I'm being such a bitch here, but how can you publish a book that has more grammatical errors than I have bacteria in my stomach? Buggs doesn't know the difference between 'less' and 'fewer', and uses both words interchangeably in circumstances that one should ideally not. The highlight for me, though was that Ms. Buggs doesn't get the whole your/you're deal.
The humour is about as fake as Donatella Versace's face, and it tries too, too hard to appeal to the reader. Buggs likes elaborating on every single point, and as I have mentioned many, many times before, readers like it better if you show them, not tell them everything. If you've mentioned once that you're clumsy, and that your colleagues keep asking how your trip was, we get that you tripped over a wire, and didn't fly to Spain in the span of a working day.
All Lucy does is whine and wine and do stupid things like throwing a bottle of wine at her husband rather than, you know, talking about her issues like a normal wife would, with her husband. and her husband is like Casanova or something; he flirts with anything that has a vagina. Lucy is one of the most immature motherfuckers I've ever had the displeasure to read of; I mean, she actually thinks money can buy happiness. What the actual fuck? She's a self-confessed workaholic who barely has time for anything else, which, according to me is probably why her husband hates her in the first place. When her husband, after being hit on the head by her bottle of wine is lying unconscious on the kitchen floor, her first thought is "oh, shit, look at all that wine going to waste", rather than "my husband might just be dead". She even names the 'butterfly in her stomach' Henry. I can't even go there. She wants a shark to bit his penis off, or something. I know twelve year-olds more mature than her.
If only Ms. Buggs had spent half the time she spent writing unnecessary crap on good grammar instead, we may have had a better book. But then again, she's the bestselling author. Not me.