Consequences

I LOVE reading. Love love love love love it. In fact, I love it so much that I can spend an entire day doing nothing but. Sometimes I love it so much that I don't even have to be reading any particular book, but just a compilation of excerpts from a certain author. Blowing 2 to 10 hours means nothing to me if I am divulging in a good book. It's why I've created the rule that I am not to be reading leisurely whilst in school. (Not that it stops me... but sometimes.)

However, spending time during the Regency era, or on a ranch filled with muscly cowboys, or even, hanging out with vampires - all comes with dire consequences. You see, each time I open a book I am absorbed into the world that the author has created. I am completely withdrawn from reality, and then, when I am finished, the re-entrance into my life is harsh and painful.

You see, I am the Harriet of Emma or maybe even Charlotte in Pride and Prejudice. Well, maybe not Charlotte. I am very much like Marianne Dashwood (see here) but without Mr. Willoughby and Colonel Brandon vying for my hand. The point is - I am not the leading character. I am surrounded by beautiful, intelligent, athletic girls that get noticed all of the time. Sure, they have their own boy troubles to deal with. But they can also walk into a room and have at least two guys by their sides, seeking their attention.

I'm not saying that I'm not pretty. Because, really... I know that I'm not a dog. Or animalistic-looking whatsoever. I have "body type" issues. But even still, I feel that does not constitute my being shunned from the male population. And yet, I know that I am never going to be one of those girls that men just pine after. That's OK.

But this is where the problems come into play. It is widely known and accepted that I am of the romance-reading type. [There is very little else I spend my time on...which, I know is not something that I should advertise. And I don't. Whenever I go to the library or Seagull books (where I find MLM) I am very quick about my selection and then scamper away as quickly as possible.] Anyway, it's just that...when I emerge from my books, after the guy has gotten the girl; after the epilogue where they have lived happily ever after, and she still melts at his touch and he still craves to hold her in his arms - I realize, I am not ever going to be that girl. And that's depressing to me.

I DO realize that no guy, no man, has really gotten lost in his wife's eyes, or caught his breath because of the way she walked down a set of stairs. There are few girls who, when they are in the arms of their love, sigh in contentment and have knees the consistency of jell-o. These are things written by very corny authors who live the dream in their heads. But while you're reading, it's nice to think that men are actually gentlemen and have a sort of code they must follow. Sure, they play the devil seducer and whisk the lady away for a private rendezvous, but they always stop or leave just in time! How luxurious, how romantic! And how non-existent.

How sad.

So, re-emerging from my dream-state, I have to remind myself that no matter how unpopular the girl was in the book (and I often compare myself to those types, the Cinderella or Ugly Duckling types...the ones that aren't expected to get the guy and then almost always do) and even though she got the guy, it doesn't matter. It doesn't mean that I will. And it definitely won't be like that. No guy is going to look at me for the first time, feel the floor fall from under his feet and then pursue. I'm almost 100% convinced that I will have to be friends with my eventual husband for 5-10 years before he's says, "Oh, hey! We've been friends for like, 10 years, why not?" Which is so completely the opposite of romantic, that it's bound to happen that way.

Anyway, the main consequence is a pity party. And I have to remind myself that I am pretty, I do have personality, and I will get married...eventually. It is also nice to hear it from someone else. Which is why I call my dad. Even if I do have to fish for compliments, to hear that I am pretty or that I have reason to hope is always the main objective.

In the end, I know what's important in life. I know that Heavenly Father is looking out for me. And I know that my family loves me.

Pity Party's over... ok, 5 more minutes.