Every Friday, Cienna Madrid offers solutions to life’s most vexing literary problems. Do you need a book recommendation to send your worst cousin on her birthday? Is it okay to read erotica on public transit? Cienna can help. Send your questions to firstname.lastname@example.org. This column is a re-run from 2016.
I’m a bookseller at an independent bookstore in Seattle. (No, not that one.) I’m used to people having bad taste when it comes to books, but every time someone buys an adult coloring book from me, I become irrationally mad. It’s getting so I can’t even look them in the eyes anymore. I think they’re a disgusting fad for rich people with way too much time on their hands. On the other hand, sales of adult coloring books are putting a roof over my head, so I probably shouldn’t complain too much. How do I choke down this bile?
I think adult coloring is supposed to sassy and therapeutic, like playing adult kickball or attending your coworker’s cosplay divorce party. But I don’t really get it either. I’ve received two adult coloring books as gifts and have had to fight the urge to say, “thanks but this isn’t a real book.” I suppose I know now how those “one man, one woman” marriage purists feel.
What I’m saying is, since we’re losing this battle we might as well try to understand its appeal. Coloring seems to be therapy for adults who don’t know how to address conflict with their words, so this week, I jotted down a few phrases that I said while in conversation with my neighbor and spiders, respectively, that I could tell irritated them but they were too polite to call me on.
Then I drew pictures of the phrases and gifted them to the offended parties, along with some chewed crayons I found. So far, neither has colored their drawings but I’m sure once they do, they’ll feel much better. And they will thank me for it.
I encourage you to try it, Juliet, and see if it helps with your bile issues. I’m including copies of my drawings for you to practice on. Enjoy and remember: Get sassy with it! Those breasts don’t have to be chicken colored, they can be any ol’ color you choose!
P.S. For all you eagle-eyed art connoisseurs out there, yes, that is a Georgia O’Keeffe vagina on the back of that heifer.
P.P.S. And yes, several spiders already pointed out that I don’t know how to spell “heifer.”