Well, I was going to do a book review today, but I've decided to put it on hold in light of the ending and a disturbing reoccurring pattern I'm starting to see within some of these 'Romance/Supernatural fiction' novels I've been getting my hands on lately.
Sorry, I shouldn't say disturbing, that portrays that what I'm reading is seriously heinous and quite possibly vulgar. They really aren't! Some of these books are actually great little stories about love and bravery and all that good fast-paced action that I love so much. So what is my boggle you may ask?
Confused? Okay, so let me clear it up for you. For those of you that know me well, you're probably reading this right now, nodding your head and laughing to yourself saying, 'Oh, Kristy, you're a sorry case', knowing exactly what I'm about to say. To those of you that don't know me just yet - I'm not a baby person.
Don't get me wrong, I'm hugely respectful of anyone who takes on the monumental task of parenthood, but I don't have the 'mum' gene. This doesn't mean I hold protests in the street banning procreation, or dig holes in my backyard to catch the little critters and send them back from where they came. It simply means I value the sound of silence and adore the empty backseat in my car.
So what do babies and books have to do with one another?
Well, the trend I'm noticing is the altered happily ever afters that I'm used to expecting. For instance, I've kept abreast of the action during the course of the plot, stuck it out through the corny banter, and mustered the appropriate amount of enthusiasm for the steamy love scenes. Then finally, after every obstacle the two seemingly warring (but secretly in love) characters overcome - Wham! Hello lover, I'm pregnant!
What is up with that?
I know, I know. Some of you are frowning at me as you read this, but can I help skipping ahead, wondering if perhaps the ripped and ruggedly handsome male lead is still going to swoon when he realises the closest he's going to get to a set of breasts in the next few months is a chicken dinner? And is the beautiful and charming female lead still going to bat her eyelashes at three o'clock in the morning when said swooner doesn't get up to feed the crying dependent?
I suspect I've skipped over the many wonders of pregnancy and parenthood and mowed right through the idiosyncrasies with gleeful enthusiasm to suit the purpose of this blog. I prefer the possibility of 'what if', safe in the knowledge that one day babies will come, perhaps take over the world, but nevertheless leave me guessing as to their clear plans of novel domination.
So, let's leave it at happy reading, happy procreating, just hopefully not at the same time ...