That Damn Book

I first heard about it on the internet. One of the blogs I read blushed guiltily at having devoured Fifty Shades of Grey. And needing a distraction and a little fun, I figured I'd jump on the bandwagon too, and enjoy me a little "adult romance", (for mature audiences only.)

Now the last thing I thought I'd feel after reading this internet sensation of a sexy romance book was sad. I figured I'd be giggly or, well, whatever else one feels after reading some good raunchy sex scenes if you know what I'm saying, but I didn't expect to cry.

But cry I did.

And as I kept reading, I got more and more sad.

If you take out the sex part of the book, the male lead is everything I would dream about in a guy. He's gorgeous. He's a billionaire. He's self possessed and confident.

He's completely enamored of the lead female and can't keep away from her. He lavishes her with gifts and wants to protect her and take care of her and do what's best for her.

She misses him and he flies to be with her.

She challenges him and he adores her for it.

I know this is how romance novels go, I've read my share of them. There's a feisty, independent, flawed woman (many of them are clumsy and don't see their own beauty) and there's a wildly handsome and unattainable man who falls for her and they struggle through all these insurmountable problems and she leaves for a while because she can't put up with his issue but he changes for her and bing bang boom they end up together because it's meant to be and who can ignore that electric pull anyway and she's so worth him becoming a better man for.

And I'm usually just fine with this plot line and get all happy and giggly at the end and enjoy the naughty bits all the way through, but this time this book just hit me sideways.

Maybe it's because I met Steve last week and he wasn't "drawn to me like a moth to flame" and he hasn't "been unable to keep away" from me and seeing that stark contrast just made me sad. Where is my perfect guy who is utterly drawn to me?

By the time I'd finished the book on Saturday I was miserable.

And when I'm sad and miserable, my brain shouts all the nastiest things at me (fat, ugly, useless, no one loves you, no one even likes you) and that just makes everything all the worse.

But after eating a ridiculous amount of chocolate and popcorn and wanting to sit and wallow in how awful that damn book had made me feel, I took myself to the gym and felt better by the time I got home.

Maybe someone should go around putting a warning label on these books. Not "mature audience", but "do not read if feeling low about your current romantic situation".

Cuz then I would have waited a while to read that damn book. And my weekend might not have been so damn sad.