It feels like an Onion article: Local Woman Praised for Not Reading Paper; Knowing Nothing of World. But also like William/Ryan shouldn’t be famous. If Paris Hilton weren’t, you know, famous (or whatever) on her own, would you have any idea who the owner of Hilton Hotels’ kids were? Can you pick the children of the heads of Viacom, General Electric, or Monsanto out of a line up? I can’t!
Wait. Am I the lead in a romantic novel? When I go out to lunch later, am I gonna run into the powerful (but humble!) son of a corn mogul? Will we run off to Italy to escape the crush of the paparazzi? Six months in, I’ll accidentally see a copy of “Corn and Soybean Digest” (which is an actual magazine that actually exists) on a newsstand somewhere and realize my boyfriend has been lying to me! But I’ll forgive him in time, because he just wanted to pursue his passion (glow in the dark velvet paintings of medieval popes). He’s very talented.
I don’t mean to mock all Romantic novels. It’s just this one (maybe this type?) is not my cup of tea.
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