I can understand Joni B. Cole's frustration in the title essay of this book. If anyone with a misbehaving dog can get a memoir published, why am I struggling so much to get anything noticed by publishers? It also establishes the voice the book as a whole, featuring Cole's characteristic tone of commiseration. But entertaining as the title essay is, this wonderful collection is so much more. Filled with Cole's wry humour, I found that each essay held it's own pleasure and sometimes a little stab of guilt, but the kind that you get via teasing from a good friend. Many times in this book, the reader must admit that, yeah, that's me, I've done that, too. But hey, if there are other people like this in the world, maybe I'm not quite as neurotic as I once thought. With Cole we can admit crazy things like being jealous of the residents of seniors' nursing facilities, resentful of friends who succeed in meeting our New Year's resolutions where we fail year after year, and re-experience those horrid luncheons where you feel the least accomplished person at the table. But alongside the humour is Cole's light touch on our hearts. This book is full of sentiment, but avoids manipulation -- you know: the kind of deliberate heartstring-tugging that's in all those bad-dog books.