I'm the sort of woman who should never be allowed to read romance novels. Oh, sure, some women can, and they have my blessing. But for me, no.
At first there was no chance of my ever reading one. I thought they were stupid, unrealistic, and a huge waste of time. Give me a good mystery or science fiction, something to improve my mind. No 'bodice-rippers' for me!
Then my roommate Mary slithered into my life. She had stacks of romance books with lurid covers and I teased her mercilessly, that an otherwise intelligent woman would waste her time with them. Then one day she stood her ground and fired back at me, “Have you ever read one? You shouldn't judge without knowing what you're talking about.” Okay, fair enough. “All right then, give me one. Choose a good one because it will be the only one I'll ever read."
It was like how a drug dealer offers you 'just a taste'. The answer should always be no. But I was weak and I said yes. I read the book. And it was good. Yes it was good and I had to admit it and maybe could she loan me another? Oh the smirk on her face when she heard that! I can see it to this day.
Her collection was mainly of Harlequin novels. Light and amusing romances. Some were like mysteries but with a romantic twist. How could it be wrong to read them? How could I know I'd become an addict so quickly?
I read through all of her books. Then secretly began to buy my own at used bookstores. I got into the hard-core stuff. The impoverished noblewoman and the dashing highwayman, the mysterious and brooding stranger full of insults but with a soft spot in his heart for the feisty wench! Oh I was deep in over my head and didn't know it.
Years passed and I married a wonderful man. We had a happy life together. But in the evenings I indulged my passion – not always with my loving husband, but in the pages of secret love, treachery, and yes, some bodice ripping.
Came the day when I looked up from my book and looked over at my husband, quietly watching television. I stared at him and thought, “Why can't YOU be more like HIM?” That's right friends, I was mentally comparing my good, kind and even romantic husband with this fictional, totally imaginary, Lord of the Manor falling in love with his (motherless) children's governess!
It hit me that it was just like a man reading a 'men's magazine' and mentally comparing his wife to the women on its pages. I was horrified! What had I done? What had I become?
I wish I could say that I closed the book immediately. (I just had to know how the story ended!) But after I finished it I gathered up my (now huge) collection of romance novels and gave them away. I felt free and cleansed! I never confessed my dark thoughts to my husband but he might have wondered how suddenly all of his favorite meals appeared at the dinner table! With a few other surprises we needn't discuss.
Yes I have backslid from time to time. I've been tricked by a historical novel now and again. But I know my limits. I keep my reading list to mysteries and science fiction and a range of other topics. I like stories about nuns! I keep my romantic fantasy life in the real world where my husband lives.
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