That's how you feel when you are thirty something and 'believe' you are this super mature, cynic evolved literary person, but find out you are not.
In fact am the exact opposite. Super teeny-girly, crazy romantic, trashy novel reader.
Am reading Zoya Factor by Anuja Chauhan. Which is not a great literary or interesting read. But a M&B. where hero is from Cricket world (M S Dhoni, I believe) and heroine from ad world.
The two meet, fight, but are drawn to each other. They try to resist but fate brings them together again and again.
The point is not the novel. But the fact that after being comfortably married for 5 years hopefully in a steady relationship, 'romance' even in a novel causes my pulse to race. I put down a perfectly decent historical book and devour (yep devour) the MB.
Am I not supposed to be past it? Am I not supposed to have enough romance in my own life to live off dregs from a novel? Why does marriage replace romance with companionship?
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