Before I get too far into this, I should tell you that I spent a very long time in high school and college thinking I needed to impress certain groups of people. When I discovered that being me was enough, I gave up being guilty about the things in life that make me happy. Although it was a very important turning point for me, it doesn’t mean that I go around shouting everything I love from the rooftops.
So here’s a thing that I don’t usually bring up in conversations: I read an astounding amount of romance novels. The women in my family all read romance novels, for a few pretty good reasons.
- They are definitely quick reads, and we are all perpetually busy people.
- Along with being quick reads, they are the sort of books that you can read in one sitting. Without fail. It makes them perfect for the few hours on a rainy afternoon when you can escape.
- You know how it’s going to end, so if you’re really in a hurry you can skim through most of it and get the happy ending and then go about your day.
- There’s no freaking way that you could move to a small town and find the one available super-sweet-lumbersexual-man-that-is-secretly-a-novelist and fall in love. But it’s nice to make believe that it happens to some people. Somewhere. It’s hope and warm, fuzzy feelings.
- The series are the best, really, since it means that you get to know family dynamics and see how the characters go forward after their “happy ever after” moment. It’s seeing the after that’s fascinating, in the end.
Now that this is out in the open, I’m going to go home and put away the box of romance books my aunt gave me. And maybe get distracted reading one.
Do you have any guilty pleasures? Tell me about them in the comments!
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