Just Don’t Wash Their Socks
My aunt told my girl cousins to date men—let them take you dancing, to dinner, to movies, for midnight strolls. That part, the romantic part, was all good. But don’t marry them and wash their socks.
She and my uncle were married for almost fifty years when he died. They had ups and downs and were oddly suited. He was a dreamer, she was the practical one, but she loved him. Early in their marriage, she’d get up early and make his breakfast—bacon, eggs, biscuits from scratch and home fried potatoes.
She hated making potatoes every morning. He hated eating them. But this went on for years before one of them said something, afraid to hurt the other’s feelings but letting resentment grow and fester. I don’t know which one finally said something first, but they both independently told me that story years later, as a complaint about the other.
He wooed her when they met. He was a wonderful dancer and they went to dinner, dancing, picnics, the beach. Then they got married and the realties hit. Babies, potatoes and washing socks.
She read voraciously, not all romance but some. She was looking for that feeling of youth, that feeling of love. She knew she was loved, he told her often, but she still washed his socks instead of going dancing.
We all want romance, and if it’s not fully attainable, that’s better because it can go into our secret selves. And better yet, we control when it comes out.
Whether it’s sweet romance, historic romance or erotic romance, it’s ours and we imagine it in our own way.
Probably most of us wouldn’t make it living in a drafty stone castle in Scotland’s rainy and cold weather, using privies, never bathing, wearing the same clothes for months on end. But the lure of adventure is strong, and these facts won’t distract from the clash of swords and the sight of strong men running to the battlements. Not to mention running to our bedroom.
No matter where we see ourselves in romances—dusty western towns, Regency England, in the Caribbean with pirates—we have it to ourselves. It’s improbable and impossible, but that’s the appeal.
In my SNAP paranormal romance series, the impossible is a 500-year-old vampire named Jean-Louis. He’s beautiful, he’s cultured, he’s uber-wealthy, he’s brave and he has household staff to wash his socks.
We all need that secret place to go when the realties overwhelm us.
What’s your secret place? And who’s your secret lover?
Michele Drier was born in Santa Cruz and is a fifth generation Californian. She’s lived and worked all over the state, calling both Southern and Northern California home. During her career in journalism—as a reporter and editor at daily newspapers—she won awards for producing investigative series.
Her mystery Edited for Death, called “Riveting and much recommended” by the Midwest Book Review is on Amazon and the second book in the Amy Hobbes Newspaper mysteries, Labeled for Death, will be published in June.
Her paranormal romance series, SNAP: The Kandesky Vampire Chronicles, is available in ebook, paperback and audible at ebook retailers. All have received “must read” reviews from the Paranormal Romance Guild. SNAP: The World Unfolds, SNAP: New Talent, Plague: A Love Story and Danube: A Tale of Murder are available singly and in a boxed set at Amazon, B&N and Kobo. The fifth book, SNAP: Love for Blood rated 5 stars, is now out. She’s writing SNAP: Happily Ever After? for release in fall 2013 and a seventh book later in 2013.
Visit her website: http://www.micheledrier.com or Facebook page, http://www.facebook.com/AuthorMicheleDrier or her Amazon author page, http://www.amazon.com/Michele-Drier/e/B005D2YC8G/
