Another Casualty for the Romance Genre

Spring Break is a memory, the bruises are fading from St. Patrick’s Day, and the Easter Bunny has hopped on down the bunny trail. I’m extremely late in blogging, and my conscience, aka Hannah, will no longer allow my laziness. So, this one is for Hannah.

Last summer, Hannah begged and pleaded to read The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever by Julia Quinn. Her pleas began after she heard my laughter while I read it. I succumbed. Why not? I was the same age when I picked up my first romance novel, A Rose In Winter by Kathleen Woodiwiss. Hannah is not exactly the most respectful of other people’s things, mainly my stuff, so I could not stomach handing over my copy of Secret Diaries. I bought her a copy to read on her trip with her Gram, my mother. When Hannah gleefully showed Gram her reading material, my mother’s eyes took on the look of a deer in headlights. I reminded her that I read romance novels at Hannah’s age. My mother replied by telling Hannah, “Save all your questions for your mother. I don’t want to hear it. I mean it.” And Hannah shockingly obeyed. (Obeying of any demand is a rarity for Hannah. She’s the typical, high school teenager.)

When Hannah returned from her trip, she praised Secret Diaries and Julia Quinn. She told all her friends about the book. I overheard her tell one of her friends, “When I get ready to marry, I’m finding a man like that.” When she told me the same thing, I laughed and told her, “Good luck.” Hannah read Secret Diaries a second time and put it away, which surprised me. I thought she had been bitten and infected by the romance novel bug, but she hadn’t. Her antidote was Harry Potter.

This past Spring Break, Hannah was reintroduced to the romance genre via her cousin. Kristen is six months younger than Hannah, and she reminds my family so much of me that my sister claims that Hannah should have been her child and Kristen mine. Kristen has been reading romances for about six months now, and her praises of Sabrina Jeffries convinced Hannah that she was missing something. Kristen loaned Hannah two of Sabrina’s books, and Hannah is truly addicted this time around. In the past three weeks, Hannah has consumed eleven romance novels. I hate to think about what her new hobby is doing to her grades. After reading a few of Sabrina Jeffries’ books, she found my “keeper stash” of romances. She’s rapidly consuming Julia’s Bridgerton series, and her next target is Eloisa’s Essex Sisters. I predict another Bon Bon in the making. Kristen is enthused with my stash, too. I’ve explained to both that I’ll share, but to consider me like a lending library. Check out one, read, return, and receive another. Call me “anal.” My books are a passion. Hannah and Kristen are driving their Gram nuts with all their discussions about the heroes in these books. Call my sister and I “amused.” ;-)

Not only is Hannah reading romance, she is craving romance movies. Besides reading eleven novels in three weeks, she’s watched the BBC North & South at least three times, maybe more. She’s smitten with Richard Armitage. Who’s not?!? That man is Adonis come to life. He NEEDS to be seen in more movies. (Bill, if you read this, Richard can’t compare to you. No, I’m not lying to make you feel better. Hannah, stop laughing.)

Hannah’s two newest addictions, romance novels and Richard Armitage, have influenced her plans for the future. My sister, Kristen, and I became the entertained confidants of Hannah’s discoveries during Spring Break. Hannah intends to finish high school, graduate from college, and move to England, home of perfect men, especially Richard. Once in England, she’ll find her ideal man, preferably one with a title, maybe even a duke, but he must have money and that certain charisma. (Now, where have we heard this plan before? How many of us are guilty of this fantasy? *g* ) Hannah decided that she would be able to obtain her goal of her ideal man, or should I say, “hero,” by her special something that sets her apart from most of the female population over the age of 12. Hannah proclaimed to my sister, Kristen, and me that she is special because she is a virgin. The virgin gets her hero in the end of the novel, and if it is good enough for the heroine, then damnit, it’s good enough for her, or so she believes. Now keep in mind, my sister, Kristen, and I are all roaring with laughter at this point of the conversation, but it gets better. Hannah decides that she should create a symbol for special status. Superman has the “S” on his chest; Hannah has the “V.” No, she doesn’t wear a “V” on her chest. Instead, she makes the sign of the “V” with her two index fingers. (Thank you, Jennifer, for helping me with explaining this sign!) Put your hands and fingers together like you were going to do the church, people, and steeple thing-a-ma-jig. When you do the steeple with your index fingers, don’t connect your index fingers at the tips but spread them apart, forming a “V.” This is Hannah’s “virgin symbol.” Ingenious, huh? Yeah, specialness goes hand in hand with ingenious. Now, every time Hannah says the word virgin, she does the “V” sign. Sometimes she doesn’t even say “virgin,” she just does the “V” sign. I wonder if she thinks if that sign will lead her English duke to her in England. Hmmm...makes me think of searching for water in the desert with a stick. Can’t you imagine the headlines in the British newspapers, “Crazy American Voodoo Woman Stalks Actor Richard Armitage With Her “V-ed” Fingers.” I would be a proud mother. My baby would be famous.

I know that Hannah was entertaining us to ease my sister’s mind. Her youngest was going in for an exploratory surgery the following morning. I’m happy to report that my nephew Ryan is doing well now, but he did scare us for a few days.

My daughter is a natural comedian. She’s inherited the comical gene that runs rampant in my family. I’m finding her antics funny. Also, I’m her mother. I want her to remain focused on school and college. (Forget the boys now, Hannah. You have a level head on you shoulders. You’re smart enough to succeed with your dreams.) She plans on seeing the world, and she refuses to jeopardize her dreams with falling for some guy in a small town who drives a muddy pick-up, swaggers in a pair of cowboy boots, thinks camouflage is not only a must for any wardrobe but a decorating phenomena, too, and lacks a British accent. Whoever says that a girl looks for her daddy in her future husband is not always right. However, I’m old enough to know that dreams can always be sidetracked or changed. Love you, Pooh Bear.

What about you? How was your Spring Break? How were the holidays? Does Hannah remind you of yourself when you began reading romance? Last but not least, any advice or well wishes for Hannah?