Monday, July 4, 2011

The dangers of reading romance novels

Lately I’ve been reading more than the normal number of my secret vice, romance books. Now before you start snickering at my choice in reading material, I’d like to say in my defense its all in the name of research!  Since I am hoping to actually get published in this genre, its only natural that I become very familiar with the style, format and content of said genre.  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!


There’s a side effect to reading too many of these books; perhaps the government needs to slap a warning label on every cover.  (Just not where it blocks the required shot of a set of rock hard abs and broad shoulders thank you.)  Something along the lines of “Caution, reading this novel may cause a chronic case of unrealistic expectations” might just do the trick. These books are written by women, for women after all; so they’re heavy on the alpha male hero with bedroom eyes and the soul of a poet. Who knows what we really dream of better than other women? And believe you me, we all seem to want the same thing. 

What we want is a man who can cook, cry, cradle us against their rock solid chest and make us feel like the most gorgeous woman to ever darken his doorway while looking like he just walked off the cover of GQ. We want muscles, strength, wit and enough testosterone to fuel three action movies. Oh, and while we’re at it, make sure he’s never been in love before, or if he has he was hurt and has trust issues that only we can heal. And of course, he’s got to be a sexual dynamo with a tonne of experience and skills that will take our breath away. 

Put it all together and what you get is a recipe for disappointment, because the number of guys like this on the planet is about equal to the number of supermodels. And they’re more than likely dating each other to boot.  Having read a few too many of these stories lately, I find myself mentally comparing them to the few men I run across who are not already married or at the very least branded and claimed. To say the least, there is a discrepancy.  The same level of discrepancy as can be found between my own personal statistics and that of Jennifer Anniston, but that’s beside the point. Or maybe it is my point. What I do know is that my diet of romance books has put my perspective out of wack, and I’ll need to fix that before I head back out into the dating world again. Unless of course there really is a 6’5 fireman out there who has a thing for short, pudgy 40 year olds who blog.  If so, will someone please give him my email address?

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