We starrrt at 5 stars (I read it, didn't I?)
+1 star for the bitter-sweet plot
-1 star for the brainless shit the characters do
+1 star for the all-around happy ending (apart from Eric, of course, dreadful situation!)
+1 star nicely cut heroes (the 'Now' part, the 'Wawa' camp was largely 'ewwww' for me)
-1 star for clichees
+1 star for the feminist vibes
+1 star for a decent take on corporations clockwork and challenges of flexibility introduction into those. Of course, it's all very token and supeficial but I'll like with that!
We end at 5 stars!
Q:
Unfortunately for them, I’m not going anywhere. And I’m beyond fed up, because I heard the same bullshit update from Tripp in the last meeting. (c)
Q:
I stroll out of the boardroom with my head held high, making sure my heels clack extra loud for Tripp, in case he missed the part where the tart just handed him his ass. (c)
Q:
We’re quite comfortable in the “plotting together to trounce misogynistic jerks” stage, though. (c)
Q:
Maybe there’s someone who you’d mesh with better?” Chad and Ashley are as opposite as you can get, and not in a good way. Ashley is all about organic foods, vegetarianism, and protecting nature, while Chad had a deer head—from a deer that he shot—stuffed and mounted above their bed. Ashley uses laundry baskets instead of dresser drawers to store her clothes, while Chad vacuums the vacuum cleaner. Ashley will spend hours on Pinterest, looking for ways to up-cycle a chipped teapot to avoid it going into a landfill; Chad is an engineer for an energy company—that Ashley has protested outside. Ashley spends a few hours every Thanksgiving working at a soup kitchen; Chad thinks the homeless are all lazy people looking for a handout. (c)
Q:
Noted. So I shouldn’t mention . . . basically anything about my life around him. (c)
Q:
With Christa as my bunk mate, I basically have a walking, talking agenda anyway. (c)
Q:
“We have turtles at home, I’m crushing hard on Kyle, and I dumped my high school soccer team captain’s ass for trying to pressure me into having sex.”
Probably not what Darian had in mind for this ice breaker, but there you have it. (c)
Q:
I sigh heavily. In my father’s eyes, a man’s worth is set by his family name, his bank account, and his shoes. (c)
Q:
“It is confusing, isn’t it? Life? To be so sure of something in your head but unable to ignore what’s in your heart.” (c)
Q:
How was your weekend?”
He shrugs. “The usual. Grandkids, church, poker. Not at the same time.”
“Sounds relaxing.” (c)
Q:
“What’s wrong with his tail?”
“Anxiety.”
His dark eyebrows rise. “Cats get anxiety?”
“This one does.” (c)
Q:
“Your ex paid me a visit today.”
“What did he say?” ...
“He didn’t say anything. He just stood there and stared at me.”
“Stared at you.”
“For ten or twelve seconds, until Gus stepped in and asked if he was okay. And then he left.” (c)
Q:
“Maybe I should start screwing the help, too.”And . . . he’s back.
“I think that’s a great idea. She already has your children’s names picked out.”
“What?” Panic flashes across his face.
“I’m kidding. Now go away so I can work.” (c)
Q:
“Do you know what I see when I’m in that building?”
“Old men staring at my ass?”...
“But it doesn’t happen as often as you think. More than that, I see people sitting up straight when you enter a room; I see their eyes glued to you when you speak. When I hear your name floating around, it’s said with respect.” He smirks. “Sometimes with a bit of fear.” He pushes a strand of hair off my face. “And I see a woman who has I don’t even want to know how much money to burn, busting her ass all day and coming home exhausted at night to the penthouse condo that she’s welcomed her camp friends to live in rent-free, and having conversations about kids with new assistants, and stopping to greet the old security guard at the front desk when everyone else is too busy to look up. Do you know how happy that makes Gus?” ...
“No, it’s because you’re still you. You’re still the same kind, generous, down-to-earth girl from Wawa who cares about people no matter where they fit. Hell, you could be sailing around in a yacht, or drinking fucking lattes in a courtyard in Paris or whatever it is you rich people do, and yet here you are, working hard doing something that’s important to you, trying to please your father, with bags under your eyes, eating takeout on a Friday night.” (c)
Q:
That cat has mastered the art of snubbing in a way few humans can match. (c)
Q:
“Interesting . . . I didn’t think being told to shove a golf club up his ass would motivate him so well.”(c)
Q:
Eight weeks, eight new sets of kids. Eighty little girls. What if they all cry themselves to sleep every night?
This must be why camp counselor looks so good on college applications—they know you’ve endured hell and lived to talk about it. (c)
Q:
“I remember wondering where they got those pantyhose from. Like, if they went out and bought them or took them from our mother’s dresser.” (с)
Q:
“How’s the condo?”
“Besides the psychotic Siamese cat that was sitting on my nightstand watching me sleep the other night?” (c)
Q:
“You never judge.”
“I’m a huge stoner, remember? Stoners don’t judge.” (c)
Q:
“Why are you staring at me like that?”...
“No reason. I’ve just always wondered, when aliens abduct a human, do they undress them before infecting the host body or were you still wearing your suit?” (c)