Shades of Gray aside, the one thing that guarantees marvelous escape from the real world, is romance. It was once very necessary to smash Love’s Lost Riot of Grief between the covers of Easy Cobal Language, Volume III (and we suspect that is the case) in order to get away with reading the latest Silhouette, but now of course, the same books can be quickly downloaded into an e-reader and no one is the wiser.
So we are not here to ask the question, to read pink or not? The question is, where? Where are women reading these books? When do they find the time?
After much shoddy research, we have a few ideas:
Locked in the bathroom while the kids fill the dishwasher with Silly Putty all the while yelling over their shoulders “Don’t worry mom, we’re Okay”
Romance heroines rarely have children. If the romance heroine does have a child (and of course it’s the hero’s and he doesn’t know it) that precious child is extremely well behaved and has never even heard of silly putty and probably cannot recant every episode plot of the Simpson’s since 1993. The Romance child is also relentlessly tailed by the nanny which the savvy romance reader knows is not the safest element to add to a budding relationship, but the nanny or better, a sympathetic mother, is advantageous as they are always on hand to whisk the child away so the romance heroine can get on with advancing the plot. And you thought the X-men were a little over the top.
In the car on the way to the weekly Sunday dinner with the in-laws.
Romance heroines don’t have in-laws. (Can’t, he doesn’t know about the child and not even in fiction does a man admit to his mother he’s sleeping around).
With your husband, the one you married without the benefit of a single scene or moment that resembles any of the scenes and moments in any of the last three romance novels you read, let alone page 96 in So Much Gray It’s Like Smog. You read, he watches another Discovery Channel special on unlocking the mysteries of African anthills. He invariably interrupts you during the best part of the book to point out how truly gross the termite queen looks in a close up.
Romantic heroes don’t watch TV.
On the couch that needs new slip covers while the same husband is out with the boys.
A true romantic hero never goes out with the boys. He’d rather spend every waking minute with the heroine.
In bed with the flu, while all the children, a few of whom you’ve never met before, rage outside the bedroom door dropping bits of cherry Popsicle’s and grinding it into the carpet with their stomping feet while your husband is away at a workshop held at the Four Seasons.
In a good romance novel, the hero says, “Honey, I have to attend a trade show in Las Vegas, do you want to come along and luxuriate at the Canyon Ranch Spa while I work my handsome fingers to the bone?” In real life, what you heard was, “ This will be a bitch and it’s too expensive to fly you and I’m sure there’s nothing to do in New York and we’re short 3,000 frequent flyer miles and you’re not looking so hot anyway, you should wear more make-up.”
At Burger King.
Romance heroines never eat at Burger King. Romance heroines eat at places like LeCirque or Aqua or L’eau, any place that doesn’t sound like food nor offers to supersize any thing on the menu for an additional 35 cents.
At Chuck- E- Cheese with the Cyber-Monsters Traveling Soccer Team immediately after their first victory of the season which also happened to be their final game. Of course to be able to read anything you will be forced to hide in the simulated air traffic controller game, the game that is always empty because it’s too expensive to play and no one wins except Hank Smith and that’s because he use to be an air traffic controller before his break down. Any given Friday evening a quick search will reveal a woman hiding in that air controller game, her feet on the steering wheel, reading about love at the spa while studiously ignoring cries of anguish from the next room because someone accidentally threw the team’s lucky ball into the ball pit.
On the bus.
You know by now Romance Heroes never take the bus, so if you were hoping to kindle a fine romance, it will most certainly not be on the number 14. It would be far better to get yourself to L’eau and order something small and hope the nanny doesn’t quit before you can meet the man of your dreams.
Readers know that these novels are as factual as the latest celebrity biography. But why not find a corner of the back yard that has not been dug up for a dirt bike track, imagine you’re on the beach in Antigua, and down load another book.