Romance

First of all, I hate Valentine's day.  It's a personal choice.  That being said, I'm not going to berate you further on the subject.

My husband has never been particularly romantic.  Stable, supportive, loving, yes.  Romantic, no.

So I seek romance in the most readily available place: crappy romance novels.  There.  I admit it.  I'm addicted to the stupid things.  I pick them up at grocery stores.  I take them out of the library.  I borrow them from my sisters.

The truly sad thing is that most of them are so terrible I can't even finish them.  I am a literary critic at heart and I hate those moments that are so ridiculous that they just throw you right back out of the story. 

The word "virile", or "brawny" for instance.  Any time a woman thinks of a man using either of those terms, I stop and say to myself no one uses words like that.  Especially virginal young ladies.  

So why would I choose to subject myself to that?  It's easy.  I know that romance is not a real, long-term part of love.  So I let my husband off the hook (most of the time) and seek my happy-butterfly-romance fix between the pages of a paperback novel.  I get all the romance I need, and my husband gets to be his loving-but-not-so-romantic self.

And for every ten terrible novels out there, there's one that makes me laugh and cry and just be someone else for a few hours, and it's all worth it.  Maybe some day I will write my own romance novels.  Perhaps I shall name the first, "Virile".  With the quotations.  Do you think anyone would get the joke?  And if I hate my own writing as much as some of the books I've tried to read, I'll just burn the book rather than subjecting poor unsuspecting readers to it.

So, now you can all be jealous of all the romance and drama in my life.  Or just go out and get yours in the same place.  No husband or boyfriend required!

Love,
      -Nan