For once, however, I will make an exception. Here is some advice, fellow meat heads:
Do not burst into tears reading Lit by Mary Karr when you are doing half an hour on the recline exercise bike. It plays merry hell with your hormonal profile.Prodnose: A memoir, superficially addressed by a parent to a child, from an author with a complicated relationship with alcohol and Catholicism?
Myself: I bet you didn't see that one coming.
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