I don’t think it should be socially acceptable for people to say they are “bad with names.” No one is bad with names. That is not a real thing. Not knowing people’s names isn’t a neurological condition; it’s a choice. You choose not to make learning people’s names a priority. It’s like saying, “Hey, a disclaimer about me: I’m rude.”

After being utterly disappointed by I Was Told There’d Be Cake, which lured me in because of its food-related title (how dare you?!), I swore off personal essays/memoirs for awhile. That is, until I saw Mindy Kaling promote her book on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. Now, I don’t know anything about Mindy except that she’s in the American remake of The Office, which I don’t watch. Nevertheless, I thought she was likeable, so I promptly borrowed her book from the library.

I was not disappointed. Reading the book made me smile. A lot. She’s relatable. And, even when you can’t relate, you get her. She talks to you like a friend, an equal. She embraces her weirdness and lets you in on her insecurities. She’s a real person and I felt like I would like her if I ever met her. And, that she’d make me smile & laugh the whole time.

The lady who authored I Was Told There’d Be Cake, Sloane Crosley, seemed arrogant. Like I’m not cool enough because I don’t casually snort cocaine or whatever. Like I could never relate to her because she grew up in an upper middle class family in Unimportant Town, New York. Like I’m not unique enough because I don’t collect toy horses that remind me of ex-boyfriends. I get it, lady, you’re awesome and super cool. *cue eye roll*