Romance

It's been a long time.

I've been sick. Very sick.

But that's not very interesting. I fear I'm always sick.

I've been reading a lot lately. I'm averaging a book a day, which can admittedly be a tad expensive, despite my recent preference for mass market historical romance novels.

I love nineteenth century London.

I think I should have been a great debutante were I an earl's daughter with a large dowry in 1812. The Earl of Southwick or some such thing. I think I could easily live in a time when chivalry still existed and evening gowns were prerequisite. I would gladly give up my right to vote for such things considering I never exercise it anyway. And I don't really care that I just set my sex back nearly a century. I am a dependent person. If I could be a housewife and get away with it, I probably would.

I do fantasize, however, about transporting back there with my modern clothes and my modern slang and watching the scandalized faces of the matrons in the ballroom while I flip my unadorned hair and wear clothes that *gasp* show my knees. I feel I would wear belly shirts just to taunt them.

They would probably just think it's because I'm American.

I would give in. In my fantasy I am not exiled, but merely reformed. I find a modiste and dress properly, but I do not give up my electric flatiron (despite the lack of electricity, it works anyway) or modern eyeliner (of which I have an endless supply). I will catch a viscount at least. He loves me dearly.

Now if only I had a time machine...