It was actually my grandma who first got me hooked on romance novels one summer just before the start of high school. I kept watching her night after night go through this entire routine which began with her getting out her favorite afghan, making a cup of tea, and then turning on the Tiffany lamp (reproduction of course!) that sat on the table next to the couch.
Each night I kept wondering to myself how she could read those books day in and day out when they were all pretty much the same story-you know, the pair of star-crossed lovers find each other after a lifetime of suffering and somehow manage to live happily ever after. Now this was the summer that Frank B. (for legal reasons, let’s just let the last name be a mystery!) dumped me for the blonde sitting behind him in English class so I was pretty much fed up with the whole romance idea so I decided to ask her why she insisted on reading those boring and sappy romance novels all the time.
Now maybe I was not quite as smart as I would have liked to believe at the ripe old age of 14 because grams sat me down on the couch and proceeded to tell me that there was bound to be a romance novel out there for all...
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