Do you know what I hate?
Returning library books late, knowing that the next time I'll have to go in, look a librarian in the eye and fess up to returning said book late, to pay my fine.
Do you know what I hate even more than that?
When that library book is a romance novel with a ridiculous title.
I can count on both hands the number of times I've actually checked out a romance novel from my library. It usually happens when I'm either (a)reallllly depressed about something or (b)have the flu. I'm not entirely sure what it says about my personality that a bottle of gatorade, a box of saltines, and the verbal equivalent of someone's throbbing something-or-other is what buoy's my moods...nor am I honestly sure it means anything...but I bet Myers-Briggs would have a thing or two to say about it.
And do you know what else I occasionally ponder? Why is it that the cerebral incarnation of porn always, and I mean always ends in some medieval marriage or life-mating or some sort of ridiculousness? Have we really not traveled the landscape of sexual equality far enough to have these novels include sex for sex's sake? Or am I just reading the wrong books?
Regardless, I still had to hang my head in shame in front of Vivian the Librarian at the downtown imcpl earlier this week when I shuffled up to the desk to pay my $2.25 fine for returning "I Kissed an Earl" two weeks late. I vaguely made eye contact with the fuse box cover just over Viv's left shoulder when she read off the other books I still had checked out on my card (such gems as "To Dare a Duke" and "The Wicked Wickerleys").
Why can't I take ownership of these books? Why can't I make my way to the checkout counter without the covers turned upside-down on the top of my pile of books, half-naked men and partially unclothed slutty demi-mondes hiding under The Purse Makers Bible? Ehh...Probably for the same reason that I still feel a little flushed when I buy a pack of condoms or a box of tampons at the drug store. I just can't help it. It's my natural instinct, despite all the forced bravado, to be embarrassed about sex and the inner workings of my own twisted mind... Go Figure.
Do you know what I hate even more than that?
When that library book is a romance novel with a ridiculous title.
I can count on both hands the number of times I've actually checked out a romance novel from my library. It usually happens when I'm either (a)reallllly depressed about something or (b)have the flu. I'm not entirely sure what it says about my personality that a bottle of gatorade, a box of saltines, and the verbal equivalent of someone's throbbing something-or-other is what buoy's my moods...nor am I honestly sure it means anything...but I bet Myers-Briggs would have a thing or two to say about it.
And do you know what else I occasionally ponder? Why is it that the cerebral incarnation of porn always, and I mean always ends in some medieval marriage or life-mating or some sort of ridiculousness? Have we really not traveled the landscape of sexual equality far enough to have these novels include sex for sex's sake? Or am I just reading the wrong books?
Regardless, I still had to hang my head in shame in front of Vivian the Librarian at the downtown imcpl earlier this week when I shuffled up to the desk to pay my $2.25 fine for returning "I Kissed an Earl" two weeks late. I vaguely made eye contact with the fuse box cover just over Viv's left shoulder when she read off the other books I still had checked out on my card (such gems as "To Dare a Duke" and "The Wicked Wickerleys").
Why can't I take ownership of these books? Why can't I make my way to the checkout counter without the covers turned upside-down on the top of my pile of books, half-naked men and partially unclothed slutty demi-mondes hiding under The Purse Makers Bible? Ehh...Probably for the same reason that I still feel a little flushed when I buy a pack of condoms or a box of tampons at the drug store. I just can't help it. It's my natural instinct, despite all the forced bravado, to be embarrassed about sex and the inner workings of my own twisted mind... Go Figure.
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