Confessions of a Counterfeit Farm Girl
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I picked up Susan McCorkindale’s humorous memoir on a whim, largely because the blurb on the back cover mentioned something about living miles away from any Starbucks. As someone who has had that experience, and who considers “roughing it” to be a hotel that has neither wifi nor room service, I thought it would be something I’d enjoy.
I was not disappointed.
This book is McCorkindale’s snarky spin on what happens when a girl from New Jersey leaves her cushy job as the head of marketing for a well-known magazine, and moves, with her testosterone-laden husband and sons, to a farm in West Virginia. From her comments on local couture (or lack thereof) to her tales of catalog shopping – not for Dansko womens shoes, but for beauty aids, bikinis, and (later) chickens, everything is hilarious, but it’s hilarity tempered by her obvious love of her family.
While this book is probably best enjoyed by women with children, or women who regularly read Family Circle, there’s enough in it for those of us who only have dogs to enjoy.