I'm No Saint
She has sex with her bridesmaid hours before marrying ”a decent Jewish guy with a promising future.” She betrays the decent guy with a not-so-decent guy she spots playing frisbee in the park (”We fit together beautifully in a pornographic pas-de-deux…”). After a long-overdue marital separation, our heroine — equipped with new face and breasts — enjoys breathlessly detailed sex with a string of other men, among them, a cigar aficionado who introduces her to the ”imploring, panting” ecstasy of spanking. Were this a novel, Elizabeth Hayt might deserve some credit for inventing a narrator so flamboyantly slutty and spoiled, not to mention vain and shallow (”not wanting to look like a Sun-Maid raisin, I saw no reason to age gracefully”). But as a memoir, Hayt’s unintentionally grotesque self-portrait will just make you cringe.