It’s tragedy when the morning cries and you don’t know why
I bought Cynthia Leitich Smith’s Eternal today. It was sealed and I couldn’t take a peek, but… “A fallen angel; A vampire princess; Can their love be ~ETERNAL”. TELL ME THAT DOESN’T SOUND PROMISING.
Then I went home, opened the wrap and -
I may be heaven-sent, but I’m not perfect.
WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE NOT PERFECT, YOU STUPID GODMADE ANGEL. STRIKE ONE.
I watch my girl slip the oversize Dallas Cowboys T-shirt over her pink bikini panties and turn in for the night.
WHAT’S THE SETTING, THE PLAYBOY MANSION? STRIKE TWO.
That sounds perverted, I know. But I’ve always watched her dress, undress, shower, and bathe.
DO ASSUAGE MY HORROR BY SHARING MORE OF YOUR VOYEURISTIC ACTIVITIES. STRIKESTRIKESTRIKESTRIKE. SEE WHAT YOU’VE DONE, STEPHENIE MEYER, SEE WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO POP CULTURE.
Then there was that one blessed weekend last August when the air conditioner broke. She spent a full day in bed, buck naked, reading Tolkien under the ceiling fan.
A BLESSED WEEKEND? A BLESSED WEEKEND?? WHERE’S YOUR SUPPOSED INDIFFERENCE NOW, YOU SLIMY LITTLE WINGED SEX FIEND. PLUS, CLASSIC CASE OF “PLEASE DON’T THINK MY CHARACTER IS A BRAINLESS SLUT; LOOK, SHE READS *INSERT BOOK BY DEAD AUTHOR*!”.
WHAT. IS. THIS.
HOW CAN SO MUCH FAIL BE IN HALF A PAGE. COMPREHENSION ERROR ERROR ERROR.
Edit: Smith is “regarded as an expert in Children’s Literature by the press” (Wikipedia, 2010). WHAT IS THIS UNIVERSE THAT I’VE WOKEN UP IN.
