I finally read Tom Robbins’ most recent book, Villa Incognito. Before I read it, I told the person I borrowed the book from that Robbins is like an old boyfriend who I know is a complete rogue, but always charms me so much that I can’t help but adore him. After reading Villa Incognito, I felt as if that old boyfriend showed up and, for the first time, I wasn’t charmed. Instead, I noticed he’s aging badly. I’ve heard his stories before. I’m not impressed with the people he’s claiming as friends. His paunch is not stately. His lechery no longer feels innocent, but offensive. Before he has always been a link to the bigger picture for me, but this time I realize how much I’ve grown past him and how little of greater life he knows.