wife in the fast lane

while waiting for a flight out of cincinnati this summer, i discovered that there is no poetry section in airport bookstores. i genuinely had no idea...my dad was like, "what are you looking for?" and when i told him he laughed in my face. then, then i realized that every person in line (okay, there were three) was buying the secret.
obviously, i am not elitist about books. i read maxim, for god's sake. one of my students is reading harold bloom's genius and calls it a "fun read." i find this appalling.
still: i'm in line at barnes and noble yesterday and the two women in front of me are BOTH buying a novel titled wife in the fast lane. the woman depicted is running in a suit and heels...it's just awful. and posed. like, clearly no one runs with their knees that high up.
my mom used to say i write a romance novel under a pen, make some benjamins, and then write what i wanted. but now, now i'm thinking: a book titled, oh i don't know, the notebook. or baby proof. or good grief! yes. an exclamation point is a must. and a woman named rachel or helen. a man named ansel...

oh, and hannah needs you. all of you. she just left into the wild and is absolutely inconsolable. she also seems to think this is my fault.