20 something, 20 everything.

Yes, you're right. I did approach this book with a larger amount of cynicism than Joan Rivers on the red carpet, and with about as much hope for transformation as when Michelle McManus tried to lose that weight. And no. I didn't even finish it- unlike Mich and that 12-pack of Creme Eggs that were on offer at the checkout.



I just found it all a bit wishy-washy. Lots of "Jemma, 21, thought that she would never be happy, but then..." and "Erica, 27, had to make a real effort to break her habits, until..." Between you and me? I don't think Jemma and Erica exist.



I mean, not that it really matters. If Jemma and Erica are indeed figments of author Christine Hassler's dope-brained imagination then that's okay. I get that many women would feel so much better by the made-up stories of these pretend failures, and find the hope that the book promises.



I suppose the issue is that I'm not actually suffering from 'an expectation hangover' or in need of 'a quarter-life woman's guide to balance and direction'. OR AT LEAST I WASN'T. This book actually fueled my angst. I wasn't concerned about graduating, or my career, or money, or being in a relationship or not being in a relationship and my relationship with my parents and where to live and how to find a man AND AND AND



AND THIS BOOK IS WHY WOMAN SHOULDN'T BE ALLOWED TO TALK TO EACH OTHER. Because they get each other's knickers in a right old twist. This book is the very embodiment of why the gays are my best friends. Much less drama.



I've given the book three stars, mainly because Christine seems like a nice all-American lady. But for the British contingent out there? Stick to dealing with your problems like we do best: watching the whole Sex and the City boxset in pajamas, and getting drunk off of Lambrini right out of the bottle.



It's better that way.