I Must Really Love Cutting...
METAPHORICALLY.
Here I am, facing reality head-on. Taking it by it's chin and looking right into its beady little eyes and saying "I accept you" in what can only be described as a moment of Good Will Hunting proportions.
So, what do I do?
I go to the bookstore. Innocently...presumably to purchase a book for my Grandmother's birthday. And I think,
"Hey, I'm out of stuff to read...as I've now finished a 3rd reading of one of my many volumes...and I've misplaced the prequel to this one...and I've only read THAT one once...I'll pick that up."
However, as happens, inevitably, everytime I go to the bookstore, I end up enamored with all the different literary possibilities at my fingertips.
"Ah...there's a really cool copy of Stardust. I need to get that one of these days..."
"Oh, Marion Zimmer Bradley...how I miss you. " and
"What's this? 'Mr. Darcy Takes A Wife'?" Could...could it be?
Indeed. It was.
A sequel to Pride and Prejudice (currently my favorite Jane Austen story due to Kiera Knightly and the guy who played Darcy. I don't even want to know his name because to me, he will forever be...Darcy ) written by a woman who seems to love the story as much as I and has chosen to emulate the elegant language of the day.
I buy it.
And now, here's me. Mooning all over the office like some lovesick puppy thinking things like:
"Someday MY Darcy will arrive." and "I can't wait to get a boyfriend just like that." and "Oh, if only...."
Fucking hell!
It's bad enough when I read regular romance novels. But at least then, the tone is always the same and I can honestly say, Love like that just don't exist.
But when subjected to lines such as:
(and anyone who knows Darcy will know why this KILLS me...this is the morning after Lizzy and Darcy's wedding night, in the carriage on their way back to Pemberly.)
"She steeled herself for a reproach upon her more prevalent personal shortcomings. As punctilious as she knew he could be, she was determined to weather any criticism with forbearance.
'My own routine is thoroughly entrenched.'
She nodded in acceptance of this irrefutable likelihood.
'Yet, I have an admission.'
'Have you?'
'This morning, I could not bring myself to bathe. I could not bear to wash your scent from me, Lizzy'" (Berdoll).
THAT'S ON PAGE FUCKING FIVE!!!
Goddamnit, Darcy.
Here I am, facing reality head-on. Taking it by it's chin and looking right into its beady little eyes and saying "I accept you" in what can only be described as a moment of Good Will Hunting proportions.
So, what do I do?
I go to the bookstore. Innocently...presumably to purchase a book for my Grandmother's birthday. And I think,
"Hey, I'm out of stuff to read...as I've now finished a 3rd reading of one of my many volumes...and I've misplaced the prequel to this one...and I've only read THAT one once...I'll pick that up."
However, as happens, inevitably, everytime I go to the bookstore, I end up enamored with all the different literary possibilities at my fingertips.
"Ah...there's a really cool copy of Stardust. I need to get that one of these days..."
"Oh, Marion Zimmer Bradley...how I miss you. " and
"What's this? 'Mr. Darcy Takes A Wife'?" Could...could it be?
Indeed. It was.
A sequel to Pride and Prejudice (currently my favorite Jane Austen story due to Kiera Knightly and the guy who played Darcy. I don't even want to know his name because to me, he will forever be...Darcy ) written by a woman who seems to love the story as much as I and has chosen to emulate the elegant language of the day.
I buy it.
And now, here's me. Mooning all over the office like some lovesick puppy thinking things like:
"Someday MY Darcy will arrive." and "I can't wait to get a boyfriend just like that." and "Oh, if only...."
Fucking hell!
It's bad enough when I read regular romance novels. But at least then, the tone is always the same and I can honestly say, Love like that just don't exist.
But when subjected to lines such as:
(and anyone who knows Darcy will know why this KILLS me...this is the morning after Lizzy and Darcy's wedding night, in the carriage on their way back to Pemberly.)
"She steeled herself for a reproach upon her more prevalent personal shortcomings. As punctilious as she knew he could be, she was determined to weather any criticism with forbearance.
'My own routine is thoroughly entrenched.'
She nodded in acceptance of this irrefutable likelihood.
'Yet, I have an admission.'
'Have you?'
'This morning, I could not bring myself to bathe. I could not bear to wash your scent from me, Lizzy'" (Berdoll).
THAT'S ON PAGE FUCKING FIVE!!!
Goddamnit, Darcy.
posted by LC Greenwood at 3:06 PM
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