I adored Jenny Slate before I began reading this, and now I feel like she is my soulmate-friend, confidant, mother, and daughter. The title of this book (Little Weirds) does sum up the book quite nicely. Some stories are so weird. Some (while still weird) make complete sense to the soul. This book was chicken soup for my soul. I cried several times. Slate has a true gift for capturing a specific emotion, thought, or place in life that feels as if she’s writing about you specifically.
Throughout the book, Slate analyzes herself, critiques herself, and questions her motives in this world and in her search for love and acceptance. In the end, she makes the brave choice of loving herself for her whole self. Choosing to be the wild creature she is, never again morph herself to fit into the heart of someone else. Reading her stories empowered me, and made me feel like I, too, need to accept I am wild, from the stars, and should not ever try to fit in a place that cannot contain me or understand me. The titular line says it all: “You protect yourself and all the little weirds that make up who you are.”