I have this gorgeous Marc Jacobs purse that I break out mostly during book-tour time (usually I don't carry purses because I tend to lose them. I just stick my wallet and glasses in the diaper bag and I'm good to go).

The last book tour, I had the purse and Lucy was with me, so there was stuff in the purse to amuse the girl.

This morning I did a TV interview here in D.C.. I pulled my necklace out of my fancy bag, pleased with my ability to accessorize, having forgotten the round alphabet stickers I'd put in my purse on the last plane trip.

Evidently a few of the stickers came off on my necklace.

Evidently I conducted an entire four-minute television interview with the letter M stuck to my neck.

And the hits just keep on coming!

At today's signing at Borders a woman approached my table. I gave her a friendly smile.

"What's your problem with Curtis Sittenfeld?" she barked.

Well, I stammered. It's not that I have a problem with her personally, I just thought that likening chick lit writers to slutty girls was a bit problematic, and I'm troubled by the way she seems to want to distance herself from the genre via name-calling and condescension...

"Yes, but you called her names, so how does that make you any better?"

Well, I further stammered. I tried not to get personal, and I certainly never called her a slut. I just think that it's possible to say you don't like one particular book without trashing the whole genre, especially when you're writing somewhere as influential as the New York Times, and...

"Wait a minute." I took a look at my inquisitor -- dark brown hair, dark brown eyes - and remembered reading that Ms. Sittenfeld lives in D.C., and gasped, "Oh my God, are you her Mom?"

Thankfully, the answer was no.

Jen