I fear I read this book twenty years too late. The “cutting humour” of the early aughts doesn’t translate well (to me), and I don’t seem to be the right demographic for this book (a chronically overworked metropolitan American with a couple of children, a job they dislike and a spouse they stopped loving roughly three years ago). 

This book was gifted to me 16 (!) years ago, and I never felt like reading it. I finally picked it up because I enjoyed satirical self-help books in the past. Unfortunately this one won’t be added to that list. To me, it was painfully on the nose and, dare I say it, a little cringe. 

There was a point made in the final chapter though, except the writer quickly turned away from that bit of poignancy in favour of being funny again.