A review by rebeccacider
What I Hate: From A to Z by Roz Chast

This book has an odd schadenfreude quality, because while I am fairly neurotic, turns out I am neurotic about totally different things than Roz Chast and it was honestly kind of pleasant to inhabit someone else's anxieties for a while.

(The one exception is the jello, which I remember vividly despite reading this book months ago. OH GOD, THE HORROR.)

(There is actually a word for this aversion, trypophobia, or fear of things with tiny holes. Whatever you do, DON'T GOOGLE IT.)

(Did you google it? I'm sorry, except not really. See "schadenfreude" above.)