Quinn Cummings is a master story-teller and her book is nothing short of delightful. Her insights into topics like celebrity, parenting, and cats with a taste for homicide are pithy and uproarious and not to be missed. Notes from the Underwire is charming, hilarious, and just snarky enough to be ultimately satisfying.

Amen,' I exclaim, accidentally spitting out a Raisinet. I pick up the chocolate with a Kleenex and stuff it in my purse. Ten bucks says a month from now I'll have forgotten about it and will finally have said heart attack when I assume a rat shat in there.

You can't all of a sudden go to sleep one night and wake up Martha Stewart. It's bit by bit by bit.

I still believe in the Holy Trinity, except now it's Target, Trader Joe's, and IKEA.

Point? Maybe you aren't a Carrie or a Samantha or a Charlotte or a Miranda. Maybe you're just you.

I’m instantly mortified by my fat, uncontrollable mouth, but that’s when it occurs to me that my humor is a self-defense mechanism. Even though I may come off like a stark raving asshat, being funny is the most important tool I have to stay sane. The ability to say what I think is the key to allowing me to feel in control.

Really? If I could hate my trainer? That would be ideal. I'd prefer to despise this person with the fire of ten thousand suns. So when I walk - nay, crawl - out of here at the end of my workouts, I want to lull myself to sleep by picturing my very talented and inspirational trainer getting hit by a bus. A bus that I am driving.