Chicken Soup

I'm a little embarrassed to write this, but I am engrossed in a "Chicken Soup for the Soul" book. In case you havent heard of this cliche'd literary phenom, each Chicken Soup book is a collection of heart-rending, tear-jerking, make-you-wanna-live-your-life-better stories. Truly, it's like reading 101 three-to-five page condensed versions of "It's a Wonderful Life." I cant read these books in public because 1. tears will be shed and 2. Kleenex will be used copiously, followed by loud, honking sessions of nose blowing.

Though I'm convinced there is more sap in one of these books than in the entire state of Vermont (and wherever else syrup is made) my overly sentimental heart succumbs to the "awwWWW!" factor each and every time.

I havent read them in probably 10 years (thinking I had outgrown them and become a little more sophisticated) but then came across this:



Bring on the Puffs, the Kleenex and the generic stuff my Dad buys. Chicken Soup AND pets? There's no way I can get thru this with dry eyes. This stuff could expose the soft underbelly in hardened criminals on death row. I'm toast. Or maybe more like toast, dipped in milk, and fallen apart into gooey nondescript globs. A milk sop, if you will.